


Enough For Now

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Fallen Angels, Fallen Castiel, M/M, post-season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Metatron took control, Sam, Dean, and Cas find themselves trying to save the world from heaven once again, with the help of a few good friends. </p><p>So they’re not exactly retiring, or picking out curtains, or riding off into the sunset. But Team Free Will is intact, and it’s good enough for now. </p><p>See notes for additional details on warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fallen

It would seem that the conversion from angel to human would be like the difference between experiencing the world naked and experiencing the world in a space suit. That a human’s limited perception would be constricting to an angel. But that is inaccurate. It wasn’t that being human was more limited than being an angel, it was that it was different. Humans had fewer senses, certainly, but they worked differently. So it was less like being in a space suit and more like waking up one day as a cat.

There were some drawbacks to being an envesseled angel, among which were slightly limited sight and speech, but Cas had never experienced full humanity before. Now, human, he did not feel as if he inhabited this body, he felt as if this body was himself. It was surreal: he had never known this kind of connection to flesh before. He wondered how humans bore it.

His sight was dulled. He only saw the wavelengths of protons that the human eye perceives. He used to see so much more: he never realized how deceptively small the world could look through the human eye. His hearing, in a sense, was dulled as well. The constant chatter of his brothers and sisters was gone. Although he had turned it “off”, before, he had never felt the void of voices so keenly. It made him feel lonely, like he was a very small being in a very large world that knew little of him and cared even less.

His other senses, though: he had not been prepared. The immediacy of experiencing them as a human, rather than through a vessel, magnified everything. He felt everything. It was overwhelming.

He stood by the payphone he had called Dean from and smelled food cooking in a restaurant down the block, the wet newspaper in the gutter, the blooming ginkgo trees. He couldn’t not.

The trouble with these new inputs was that his processing capacity was diminished. His mind could not handle the volume of thought that it used to. In a sense, these inputs were overwhelming because they occupied so much bandwidth. There was little room for anything else. He had never felt so consumed by simple sensation.

The first time he felt hunger, real hunger pangs gnawing at his insides and shooting through his gut, he had doubled over in pain and shock. He had experienced some hunger before, when his vessel encountered the horseman Famine, but what had felt insatiable back then was apparently just how most humans felt before meal time. This: he hadn’t eaten since he fell, almost a full day. He felt like he was going to vomit, but he knew his stomach was empty.

By the time Dean and Sam got to him in the Impala, his head was pounding and his vision swam when he stood up. Sam made him drink some neon liquid (electrolyte enhanced sports drink, the label proclaimed) that was too sweet. He could only take tiny sips, and even that only after the drink cooled to room temperature. Sam was persistent: he made him drink the whole bottle. After that, Cas found out what it felt like when he had to pee. (Dean remembered that particular type of squirming from when he potty trained Sam: his tires squealed and squelched into the mud as he frantically pulled the car off the road and talked Cas through it. They still ended up having to pitch his shoes. Cas complained that his feet were cold the rest of the way home, but soon refused to wear anything on his feet at all.)

When they got back to the bunker and he took his first shower, the water felt like needles driving into his skin and he got shampoo in his eyes. Every nerve ending in his body lit up with sensation. And he could not figure out how to get the water temperature to something comfortable. The insides of his ears were wet. He had had no idea that he could feel the skin inside his ears until it was wet and uncomfortable. He could barely dry himself off, after: the towel pulled at his hair and scrubbed at his skin.

He tried to put on the clothing that Dean had set out for him (a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, a soft flannel shirt, socks and underwear) but the fabric itched against his skin. He felt every tag and seam and it was horrible. (He wondered how he had managed to wear Jimmy’s clothes until then, and then remembered something called acclimatization: he had felt them on his skin long enough that he stopped noticing them. It wasn’t until he gave new inputs and reset the nerves, in a way, that he experienced touch like this.) He went looking for Dean, to ask if there was something else he could wear because this clothing was intolerable. His toes registered the cold of the concrete floor, felt the tiny fissures and imperfections in its surface.

When he walked into the war room, Dean had immediately covered his eyes with one hand, staggering towards Cas with the other extended. He grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around, shoving him lightly back towards the showers.

“Cas, you have to wear _something_.” Dean’s hand was like fire across his skin. He gasped and froze. Sam walked in and immediately closed his own eyes.

“Cas, really,” he said, flatly. “Go put something on dude.”

“I can feel all of it. It’s terrible.” Dean’s hand still rested against his upper back: the fire had cooled, and now he just felt warmth spreading from the skin-to-skin contact.

“Cas, you’re going to have to adjust. I’m sorry.” Dean had set out his softest things, hoping they would be comfortable enough. Apparently not. “At least put on some pants, okay?” Both brothers still had their eyes covered. Cas sighed, almost sorry to move away from where Dean was touching him. He shivered as he walked back towards the bathroom. His arms prickled as his skin erupted in tiny bumps.

As he pulled on the soft denim jeans, the head of his cock brushed against his belly and he realized he was hard.

He brushed his fingers lightly along his length, one hand holding the jeans at mid-thigh. He gasped: the same warmth he had felt from Dean’s hand spread throughout his body. Gently, he wrapped a hand around himself and squeezed. His hips rolled up into his hand of their own volition. Once, twice: the world faded to white, and his hand was warm and sticky. Oh.

The water was too cold when he rinsed his hands.

*****

It had been weeks, now. Weeks of the fallen angel slouching around the bunker, staring blankly into middle distance. Only eating when Dean shoved a plate in front of him. He fed Cas as often as he fed himself, but he could swear his jeans hung looser on Cas’s frame than they had when Cas first appropriated them.

The trenchcoat was beyond repair by the time he and Sam found Cas. Dean was kind of mourning the ugly old thing.

He and Sam had been trying to keep a close eye on Cas without being too obvious about it. Cas didn’t talk much. Mostly, he seemed to be in a lot of emotional pain. He was overwhelmed by even the tiniest physical sensations; at first, he could barely handle anything touching him. It had taken some convincing to get him to wear clothing on a regular basis. Usually he had on a pair of jeans. Nothing else was guaranteed.

They tried to distract him, to engage him, to entertain him. To help him adjust and let him heal. Dean had him slowly working through a list of movies he insisted were required viewing; Dean, of course, watched the movies with him to provide commentary and make sure Cas didn’t miss any of the important parts. Sam had him helping to translate some texts in obscure languages; Cas loved the challenge, but quickly learned the drawbacks of a stiff neck and tired eyes. Some days, he seemed to be improving. Other days, nothing they said or did could rouse him from his melancholy.

It had been weeks, and he still crawled into Dean’s bed every night.

At first Dean just hadn’t had the heart to kick him out; comfort was comfort and he was just glad Cas was actually sleeping. It turned out Cas was a cuddler, a total octopus really (Dean had tried to count their tangled limbs once in the middle of the night, and kept coming up with too many), but somehow they just seemed to fit together. They both slept better like this.

They’d set Cas up with his own room, next to Dean’s and across from Sam’s. They all slept with their doors open; years of hunter conditioning combined with Cas’s very human lack of stealth meant they’d wake if he got out of bed.

So, naturally, Sam knew that Cas had been sleeping in Dean’s bed this whole time.

He didn’t bring it up. He was a good brother, even if Dean didn’t always recognize that fact. For a few weeks, they had lived like this, focused so hard on continuing to exist that they ignored every issue not relevant to their immediate survival.

A week ago, they had finally dropped the charade, and Cas just followed Dean into his room when he went to bed. No one said anything.

Last night, a full month since the angels fell, Dean and Cas had stayed up late to finish some movie Dean insisted was vital to his cultural education. They had been arguing a finer point of the plot when Sam mumbled a sleepy goodnight and went to bed.

Last night, when the two had finally gone to bed, Sam woke to their footsteps. They were uneven, shuffling, and kept pausing as they made their way down the hall. Then the door to Dean’s room clicked shut. He heard the lock slide into place.

Sam wondered about this for about the long seconds it took his sleep addled brain to process the possibilities. Then he just prayed the door was soundproof.

Fucking _finally_.


	2. Love Potion No. 9

Dean couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

They’d been watching _Serenity_ when Cas told him. Dean had asked, early on, but Cas hadn’t been able to say a word about what had happened upstairs until now.

The reason the angels fell: it was a spell. Metatron had told Cas it was trials, of course. But the three things he needed: the death of a nephilim, product of human and angel love. A cupid’s bow, used to cause heaven-ordained love between humans. And Cas’s grace: every other ingredient had been about human love, so Cas had to assume that this one was too. Metatron had needed the grace of an angel in love with a human. That was the final ingredient.

“Do you understand what I mean, Dean?” Dean had been staring at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted for a few moments now. Cas didn’t know precisely how long; somehow, that fact was painful. “An angel in love with a human.”

“Cas, I...” Dean swallowed. He felt presumptuous thinking that Cas meant him, but he wasn’t coming up with any other possibilities. Quietly, so softly the word barely came out, he asked, “me?”

“Yes, Dean, you.” His tone added _you idiot_.

“But you kept leaving me.”

“Dean. I never did it because I wanted to. I never wanted to leave.” Cas was frowning, now, as he turned in his seat to face Dean. “I always did it for you, in one way or another. I always thought I was doing the right thing. And I know you don’t agree, that I wasn’t always actually doing the right thing. But I was just trying...I was just trying to do the best that I could.”

“Do me a favor, then, yeah? Don’t decide what’s in my best interest without asking me first, okay?” Dean mirrored his posture: turned toward Cas with one leg folded up onto the couch, one on the floor.

Cas smiled a little. “Of course.” All Cas had ever wanted was to be useful, to do the right thing, but it never worked out quite like he expected. Two heads are better than one, that’s how that saying went, right? Maybe this cultural education would be good for something after all.

Dean nodded, he was thinking hard. Cas watched thoughts and emotions play across his features, not quite able to discern what was going on in Dean’s head.

“If...if we’re going to do this...” Dean swallowed, frowning slightly. “Are we going to do this?” He gestured with one hand, pointing back and forth between them.

“My ‘cultural education’ indicates that you are referring to sex.” Cas made quotes in the air with his fingers.

“Well, fuck, Cas.”

“That’s the general idea.”

“No, I mean, well, jesus, that’s a little more direct than I would have been about it.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face; in the low light, Cas couldn’t be sure, but he looked a little flushed.  “And I don’t...I don’t just mean sex. I mean, if you, if...we can, if. Um.” Dean knew he was rusty, but this was a little ridiculous. “What I mean is a relationship. I don’t exactly have a great track record, but if we do...this, I’m not willing to half-ass it.”

“We already have a relationship.”

“Stop being obtuse. You know what I mean.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly tried that many times.” Cas’s expression was gentle, he wasn’t judging Dean. Dean nodded in agreement: really, he’d only tried once. “And the problem before was that you fell in love with an idea, an ideal, instead of a person. You can’t stay in love with an idea, Dean.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how much Cas knew, how Cas knew that. Hell, it had taken Dean himself years to realize it. Cas looked down, resting a hand on Dean’s knee and rubbing his thumb over the inseam there.

“I watched you rake leaves, once.” Dean frowned, trying to remember. Cas had been there? “I thought you would be happy. But you were in love with an idea.” Cas looked up, met Dean’s eyes. “I know because I was the same way once.” Cas remembered being an idealist, what it was like to love and serve blindly. Part of him ached for the simplicity.

“But you’re not just an idea to me.”

“No, I don’t think so. And you’re not just an idea to me either. We’ve already seen each other at our worst, I’d say. At least, I hope that was my worst.”

“You literally dragged my ass out of hell.”

“And you watched me proclaim myself God, then rain destruction on heaven and earth.”

They sat quietly for a moment, both thinking.

“So I’m not in love with an idea this time.” Dean mused, smiling in a mildly dazed manner.

“You reciprocate?” Cas felt as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Dean’s eyes snapped to meet his gaze; he blinked rapidly a few times, then looked surprised as he realized what he’d just said.

“Yeah.” Dean looked dazed, then gave him a sort of sheepish smile, then his gaze became focused. His eyes slipped to Cas’s lips and back up.

“This is the part where you kiss me, right?” Dean huffed a small laugh and nodded as he wrapped a hand around the back of Cas’s head. He brought their faces close, resting his forehead against Cas’s. He stroked his thumb over Cas’s cheekbone.

“Yeah, this is that part.” Then he gently brushed his lips against Cas’s, the barest of touches sending a riot of sparks through Cas’s body. He felt as if his skin was glowing in the dark. Dean brushed their lips together again, and Cas kissed him back. He wound one arm around Dean’s shoulders and the other into his hair. Leveraging his weight, he turned, shifted so he was straddling Dean’s lap. He used his grip on his hair to tug Dean’s head back, licking at the seam of his lips until Dean opened his mouth with a low moan.

“Cas, fuck. What...fuck, you really know what you’re doing, huh?” The angel was mouthing at his jaw, licking a wet stripe up his neck, stretching his shirt to one side so he could bite at Dean’s collarbone. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

In answer, Cas rolled his hips down against Dean’s lap, rubbing his own hardness against Dean’s. At that, they both moaned; Dean wrapped his arms tighter around Cas’s back. He reclaimed Cas’s lips in a kiss, shuddering at the satisfaction of finally having Cas in his arms.

He dragged his teeth over Cas’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Cas whined and shivered as he ground down. Dean slipped a hand down the back of Cas’ jeans, gripping him firmly as he rolled his hips again.

“Dean, are we going to do this here?” Cas gasped out. Dean honestly hadn’t even thought about where they were, completely absorbed in his current endeavor. And although the couch would certainly suffice, he’d like to have a little room to maneuver for this, and Sam would probably kill him if he found out. Besides, first times were supposed to something special, if you could swing it.

First times. Was Cas even ready for this? “Cas, we don’t have to do anything. We can stop if you want.” Fuck, chivalry was the pits. He desperately hoped Cas didn’t want to stop.

“No. Do you have any idea how long I have waited for this?”

Dean smiled against Cas’s lips. “Let’s go to bed, okay?” He gripped Cas by the ass and stood, letting Cas slide deliciously down his front until his feet touched the floor. Somehow, they were still attached at the lips. “Cas, Cas, we’re going to have to walk there.” Cas bit at his lips and released his grip on Dean’s head.

“Start walking.” It came out almost a growl, the rumble in Cas’s voice doing all kinds of awesome things for Dean’s dick. 10-4, good buddy. He huffed a laugh and picked up the remote, aiming it blindly at the television as Cas kissed him again. The screen went dark, and they began fumbling their way towards the bedrooms.

They had barely been able to stop with the whole making out thing enough to walk. Dean felt like a teenager, or like someone in a movie where the couple can’t even unlock the door to wherever the bed is before they start undressing each other. It helped that Cas wasn’t wearing a shirt to begin with. It helped that his door was already open. He shut it as quietly as possible behind him, and slid the lock into place. He doubted they needed it, but it was definitely one of those things that it was better to have and never need than the opposite. Although it would be kind of hilarious if Sam stormed in thinking one of them was hurt, Dean wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. He prayed his door was soundproof.

Dean rested his head against the doorframe and took a steadying breath. Shit, he couldn’t believe this was actually, finally happening. _Love_. Fuck.

Cas walked over to the bed and reclined against the headboard. He reached to flip on the light beside the bed. Dean stripped his shirt off as he followed him, pulling him by the ankle so Cas was spread flat on his back, then crawling up his body to press their bare chests together as he sucked on Cas’s neck. He was probably going to leave marks; he’d learned how to avoid that before he could legally drive, but somehow he just didn’t give a shit right now. Something primal in him wanted Cas to be marked, anyways. _This is mine_. He supposed it was more civil than peeing on the guy. Though, come to think of it, some people did that...

Cas moaned below him as Dean nibbled the toned meat of his shoulder, drawing his brain back to the present and away from irrelevant kinks. He’d had plenty of time to visually appreciate this body in the last few weeks, but getting to really touch, to taste: Dean was consumed. He was thankful Cas wasn’t nearly as sensitive as he’d been when he’d first fallen: he was responsive as hell, wrapping his legs around Dean’s hips and rolling up against him at every lick and bite, but it didn’t seem like it was too much. At first, everything had been too much. Dean kissed him again, thinking of how far they’d already come in a few short weeks. How far they’d come in years. Love. Cas had named it, and Dean couldn’t disagree.

Cas’s hands were pressing at his chest; Dean withdrew slightly in confusion. Did he want to stop?

“Move, Dean, I can’t reach you.”

Cas wormed his hands between them to undo Dean’s jeans, pushing them down over his ass and palming his erection through his underwear. Dean gasped at that, the shock of pleasure as Cas rubbed him firmly.

“Take these off. No more clothes.” Cas was a demanding little fucker, but Dean was happy to comply. He shucked everything as Cas squirmed out of his own jeans. It may have taken Dean slightly longer because he was distracted by the way the movement rippled through Cas’s lithe form. Cas couldn’t help but smirk at the stunned expression on Dean’s face, a smirk that turned to a grin as he rejoined Cas on the bed. How was every inch of him so fucking gorgeous? It just wasn’t fair.

Dean, for all of his experience, wasn’t terribly certain how to proceed. He was more than proficient at blowjobs (and he’d rather not think about how he’d acquired that skill right now, thanks), but there was sex, and then there was sex with someone who mattered. And he really didn’t want to fuck this up.

Fortunately for Dean, Cas was feeling pretty confident about what they ought to be doing. He had spent millennia watching humanity, which meant, incidentally, that he had spent millennia watching humans fuck. In just about every imaginable configuration. Before he’d had a vessel he hadn’t been affected by that in the slightest: angels did not get turned on, as it were. Once he had a vessel, and even wound up more or less became human in that vessel, he gained a little understanding of the drive behind it. But since he had become fully human, he understood just how often human males thought with their dicks. And why. And he wanted to try all of it for himself. But tonight, he had already decided where to start. He was counting on having time for the rest.

Reaching down, he gripped his own cock and Dean’s in one hand. Precome slicked the friction between them as he thrust up into his fist, earning a moan from Dean.

“Fuck, Cas.” Cas smirked a little as Dean bent over him, kissing his jaw, his cheeks, resting their foreheads together as they thrust in time. Cas set his feet flat on the bed to get better leverage, thrusting harder as he slid his thumb over the heads of their cocks.

It was better than he had ever dared imagine, a thousand times better than just touching himself. No wonder humans were so obsessed. He was dizzy with sensation, lightheaded.

“Dean, it’s...”

Dean kissed him again, loose and easy, licking at his lips, kissing the upper and lower in turn.

“Shh, Cas, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Grounded, Cas hummed in pleasure, a hum that turned to a growl when Dean slid a hand underneath him to grip his ass. Dean lifted Cas’s hips slightly, sliding his other hand underneath as well.

With a solid grip on Cas’s ass, Dean rolled them over so Cas was on top. He let Cas control the show for a little while, gripping him firmly, drinking in his tight little gasps and disbelieving moans of pleasure. He added his own hand to Cas’s, thumbing over flushed cockheads again, both of them moaning this time.

He could feel Cas’s rhythm begin to falter. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

“That’s it, Cas, fuck, let it go. I’ve got you. Come on, come for me, Cas, I wanna see you.” Cas moaned and bit at Dean’s shoulder, then threw his head back and gritted out a low “fuck” as he shuddered and came. A few strokes, and Dean followed him, groaning as his release shot hot over their combined fists.

Cas collapsed onto the man beneath him as they wound their arms around each other, heedless of the sticky mess now coating both of them. “Cas,” Dean murmured, breathing in his friend’s scent and letting the post-orgasmic languor subsume his body. He shifted slightly, found Cas’s lips again. Cas seemed content, kissing back gently, but a soft smile turned to an expression of mild disgust as he realized what a sticky mess his chest was.

Dean laughed at that, grabbing tissues for the both of them. Not perfect, but good enough for now. Cas laughed along with him, actually giggling as Dean decided to find out if he was ticklish. For some reason, he was always a little ornery after sex. It seemed Cas shared his proclivity, because soon they were breathless from their grappling tickle-fight. Dean pulled Cas to his chest and kissed him again. Cas just smiled at him, then tucked his head against Dean’s shoulder as Dean turned out the light.

 

*****

They awoke a few hours later, during what was decidedly the middle of the night, with sleepy kisses that turned to sleepily grinding against each other. Dean stroked Cas to release, taking his time, learning what he liked. Cas made the most amazing noises, completely unselfconscious in taking his pleasure. Cas reciprocated, and although Dean couldn’t tell you exactly what he’d done afterwards, he was certain he would need Cas to do that again.


	3. Cabin Fever

It had been a month, and everyone was going a little stir crazy.

Okay, more than a little. (Sam was considering alphabetizing the pantry.)

The first week or two of rest had been necessary: Sam was too sick, too close to dead to do anything until they figured out how to stop the trials, and Cas could barely cope with eating and wearing clothing let alone anything else. Dean was bone-weary with worry trying to fix them both at the same time. They had to lick their wounds, regroup, adjust so they could actually function. But now they were inactive as much from a lack of things to do as from necessity. And it was driving everyone a little nuts.

Sam was on the mend now. On an extremely positive note, he was no longer glowing and no longer coughing up blood. Between some notes Kevin left before hightailing it and a text Cas had managed to translate they had figured out how to stop the trials without completing them.

As luck would have it, it was a pretty straightforward spell, (although it certainly wasn’t intuitive; they’d never have dreamed it up on their own). The items they needed to complete the spell were stocked in the bunker. It was almost too convenient, as if someone needed them to be finished with that aborted plot because Sam wasn’t allowed to die. In any case, Sam thought, gift horses and mouths.

So no one was going to slam the gates of hell shut, Crowley had disappeared, heaven had rained angels upon the earth, and Team Free Will had gone to ground.

It wasn’t perfect, or neatly tied up in any way. Sam had the sense that this was just the beginning: that they’d survived the first bit, but things were somehow going to get a whole lot worse before they managed to eek out any real resolution.

*****

The morning after the closed-door incident (and that was all the more Sam was going to think about that, a closed door that was not nearly as soundproof as he had hoped), Sam was in the kitchen brewing the strongest coffee he could manage. Funny enough, he hadn’t slept all that well last night. Kept being woken by sounds that he was absolutely not thinking about.

Cas staggered into the kitchen an hour later, his hair a riot of spikes. He’d put on the jeans, thank god, but they didn’t quite cover the little bruises on his hips that Sam was _not_ going to think about any more.

Jesus, he was going to have an aneurysm trying not to think about all the gay sex his brother was having.

When Dean sauntered into the kitchen a bit later, the condition of his hair not much better than Cas’s had been, Sam didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the goofy smile on his brother’s face. He couldn’t quite help himself though: blame the lack of sleep for his grouchy candor.

“You know, this place isn’t quite as soundproof as it could be.” Subtle as a brick. Dean’s smile fell as he turned white, then bright red, and then, after a moment to consider, he just smirked.

“Shut up, Sammy.” He was grinning as he strode out of the kitchen, coffee in hand.

Sam laughed, feeling mirth flood his body in a way it hadn’t since before the trials. He laughed until his stomach hurt and there were tears streaming down his face. Apparently, his brother fucking a fallen angel was utterly hilarious.

As he wiped the tears from his face, Sam decided that he hadn’t had quite enough coffee to feel like alphabetizing the pantry this morning. So he went back to figuring out what to do about the angels. It was one of those terrible, exhausting tasks where there is a lot to think about and not a lot to do. After his laugh, though, he felt optimistic.

The world had been frighteningly calm: Crowley hadn’t ever released his demons from their Winchester-inspired lock-down. So far, no demon sign. They had been quiet; under other circumstances he would have said it was too quiet. Sam figured the reason for radio silence was an internal power struggle since Crowley hadn’t reappeared; demons weren’t likely to continue obedience to an absent king. But hey, if the demons wanted to start a civil war they could kill as many of each other as they liked, so long as they kept humans out of it.

For the angels, they had more information but even less they could do with it. As far as they could gather, the angels who fell had largely wound up in various hospitals as John and Jane Does. Many remained comatose; some had been committed to mental institutions. Depowered, there wasn’t much harm they could do to others, though if the demons managed to figure out who and what they were, they would be in a lot of danger themselves.

Sam had relayed all of the data the bunker’s alarm system had captured to Garth: teams of hunters were investigating as many of the fall sites as they could, and catching up with any suspicious hospital admittances in the few days after the fall. There weren’t a lot of volunteers: many hunters bore too much resentment towards angels to have any motivation to assist. It was a lot of leg work with no payoff. It seemed the angels’ grace had not fallen with them: this was both a relief, as it could not be weaponized, and very bad news, because Sam had no idea how anyone could fix the pile of shit they were facing.

He considered trying to take on a few of the sites themselves, but he wasn’t sure Cas could handle it yet. Not when there wasn’t anything they could do to fix it. He didn’t blame Cas for what had happened, but he knew Cas carried around a lot of guilt for it. He and Dean had never said the words, but the close eye they kept on Cas those first weeks had a name: suicide watch.

He kept digging. Eventually, something was going to poke it’s head out and try to get a taste of fallen angel. Sam wanted to be there when it did.

He had been struggling with feeling utterly useless. He’d come so close to completing the trials, failed, and nearly died anyways. Even though he understood why Dean wouldn’t let him finish the trials, he still felt as if he had failed somehow. He was willing to die if it would save the world. It wouldn’t be the first time he had, in fact.

He and Dean had argued for hours: Dean couldn’t understand why Sam was willing to go all kamikaze on Hell; Sam insisted that this was a sacrifice that was more than worth it. Sam understood that this was a battle he could never win, that Dean would do literally anything to stop him. But he had an opportunity to save the world: he couldn’t care about the cost.

Crowley’s disappearance had kind of resolved the issue for them. By that point, Sam was so weak that he could barely even help cure himself.

The spell they had worked to heal him un-did everything he had done so far. If he wanted to close the gates he’d have to start all over. He knew Dean would never let him. If he tried, he doubted he would survive long enough to finish all three trials a second time.

There had to be something else he could do. He poured over Kevin’s notes, trying to figure out a way that the trial undertaker could survive. But the real truth was that the angels were more than enough trouble for now.


	4. On Winged Feet

Cas had taken up jogging.

When they had recovered enough to go out in public, Team Free Will had finally made a trip to the store to get him some clothing of his own. Now that he was able to handle the day-to-day of being human, he needed the accoutrement his status demanded. He’d largely acquired items that could have come from Sam or Dean’s own closets, but insisted on a few pairs of running shorts and some running shoes.

(“Dean, are these supposed to fit like this?” Cas stepped out of the dressing room and turned to show Dean the jeans he was wearing, lifting his shirt slightly and frowning at the mirror. They seemed tight, but at the same time he kind of liked how they looked.

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, um, yeah. Yeah, those are fine.” When Cas turned to see his expression, Dean was studying the wall intently.

Cas got two pairs of that cut.)

He couldn’t fly anymore, but the burn of air in his lungs, the cooling wind on his face, and the physical effort of it all helped. A little. Enough for now. He felt grounded, both literally and mentally, when he ran. The contrast of this scrap of freedom to his former flight was painful. But at the same time he relished it as a tiny echo that reminded him of Before.

Most mornings, he rolled out of their bed just before the sun rose and took off for an hour or so.

He reflected that the god Mercury had wings on his shoes. Sometimes he felt like that: his real wings were a phantom ache between his shoulderblades, now, but he had acquired a new pair for his feet. It was stupid, but it somehow comforted him.

Dean worried about him going off on his own like this, but Cas carried his phone and simply refused to stop. He needed the time alone as much as anything else. Dean understood that, as much as he worried, so he didn’t try to tag along. Besides, running without something chasing you always seemed ridiculous to him.

He started out along the river, taking the road until it intersected with a series of bike trails. From there, he picked a different route every day. He’d ended up running the same ways eventually, as there were only a finite number of possibilities. His choice was always random, though, so similarities between routes were simple coincidence.

The morning had a warm glow, the soft light that precedes the sun’s entrance into the sky. He had seen a thousand, thousand sunrises in his time, but he had never experienced them like this. He felt the first rays of the sun before he saw them, warming his shoulders. If he stepped off the path and ran in the grass, dew soaked his shoes and he had to run the rest of the way with squishy toes. He considered just taking his shoes off and running barefoot. Mud and grass and the scrape of wet concrete on the soles of his feet. But he saw broken glass often enough to think better of it. He wouldn’t just heal if he got a piece of glass stuck in his foot. And he wouldn’t be able to run while it mended at the plodding human pace.  

(He had cut himself shaving the first time he tried. It bled and bled: he thought it would never stop, the streak of bright red blood tracing down his chin. (Arterial blood, he mused.) His vessel had bled Before, plenty of times, but there was always a sort of mental disconnect between his Self and the blood. Now, the bright red was his own life force, slowly leaking out of him.

Dean had wiped the streak from his face, showed him how to use a little bit of paper to keep it from dripping until a scab formed. It took days before the wound knit back together fully, longer before he could no longer feel the mark under his fingers. He had cut himself since; he knew he would cut himself again. As it turned out, papercuts were far more painful than one would expect. Dean had found him standing in the library, staring at the small drop of blood on his fingertip in abject horror.)

Being human was so much more than he had ever bargained for.

He watched a robin hop along the ground, out into his path and then back into the grass. It had a worm clutched in its beak; it eyed him warily. _Don’t worry, bird, I’m not here for your breakfast_.

A long hill loomed ahead. He seemed to find himself here often, no matter which route he took. It was always towards the end of his run, when he was already tired. When he had long ago stopped noticing the burn in his legs, the churn of air through his lungs. When he had adjusted to the exigency of his run, the monster loomed before him.

The challenge spoke to him; surmounting this obstacle healed something inside him a little more each time he beat it. Nearly a mile of constant incline. It wasn’t really steep, but it was steady. A challenge that crept up on you slowly, that you only realized you had taken on when your legs burned and your lungs burned and your heart beat so hard you were almost dizzy with the effort.

He had attempted running it at full speed on his first few tries, never quite making it halfway before he had to choose between stopping or collapsing. _Moderation_ , the hill said. _Adjust your tactics to your opponent_. So he slowed his pace, picked one that still hurt but he could keep up. A pace that wasn’t fast, but it was steady. He learned how to conquer the hill. And each time, he ran up it a little faster, and it hurt a little less.

He was not Prometheus, doomed to constant failure and pain on a hillside. He could conquer his hill. Each time he tried, he did a little better, suffered a little less.

On the days he wanted to give up, he thought of that hill.

*****

Cas was eating on his own now, his appetite increasing. It turned out he was quite a cook when he set his mind to it, and Sam looked forward to the nights when Cas and Dean would prepare something together: it was always ridiculously delicious. Cas loved doing the laundry, burying his hands in a basket of dryer-warm clothes as he folded them. He talked more. And he still went to bed with Dean every night.

In fact, little by little, he had quietly moved his few belongings into Dean’s room, so his own now stood vacant. When they bought him his own clothing, he simply tucked it away next to Dean’s.

It had only been a few nights since the First, and they had been taking things sweet and slow, learning each other, discovering a mutual agreement on the awesomeness of blowjobs. Dean tried to keep the noise down. Sam hadn’t said anything else, but he’d also started closing his own door, and had purchased earplugs at some point.

Dean tried not to feel too smug about that. Not his fault Cas couldn’t control himself. Well, no, actually, it was entirely his fault and he was happy to take credit for it. Cas, for his part, insisted Dean was equally noisy. Once, this had devolved into a contest to see who could make the other make the most absurd or loudest noises. Both seemed content to lose that battle.

Dean was endlessly thankful to have Cas in his life, to watch Cas learn to do human things like shave and grill shit and change the batteries in the tv remote.

Sam was mostly thankful for his earplugs. The fact that Dean actually seemed happy, that he was hardly drinking at all, that he and Cas were cooking meals that included actual vegetables: he was thankful for all of that stuff too. But mostly, the earplugs.

Cas was just thankful he’d found the brothers after he fell. Being human had very little to recommend it. He’d had a giant pile of bad shit in his existence, and he’d added more than a few bodies to it in recent years. But every day with his friends was another thing in his good pile, and it grew steadily.

The world was still quiet. Hunters had surveyed every site they could, even hauling a few confused ex-angels out of more remote locations. They’d left hex bags with them, put up warding symbols anywhere they could, but the once nearly-invincible beings were still utterly vulnerable. As far as everyone could tell, the angels were as good as human. And there wasn’t anything anyone could do for them.

*****

“Sheriff Mills!” Sam answered the phone with surprise in his voice. It had been too long since he had heard from Jody. “How are you?”

“Well, I’m alive, so I suppose that’s what counts.”

“What happened?”

“Well, that’s half of the reason I called you. It was a little over a month ago: I was on a date with a new guy, british, dark hair, a real charmer. It was going so well, too.” She sounded incredulous. “I went to the bathroom to, um, to freshen up and found a hex bag in my purse. I proceeded to nearly choke to death, Sam. I was so sure...but then it stopped.” Sam was horrified as he realized what had happened. “When I got back to our table my date was gone. But what was really interesting was the picture of me I found on the floor under the table with some kind of marking on it.” She spoke rapidly, irritation evident in her voice.  

“Fuck, Crowley.”

“Language, Sam. Wait, who?”

“Uh, the king of hell. Jody, it sounds like the king of hell took you to dinner.”

“I don’t think it counts as a date if he tries to kill me then sticks me with the bill.”

“I’m just glad you’re alive.” It had been so close. Would it have made any difference if he and Dean knew who Crowley had with him? Would they have agreed any faster? He didn’t volunteer any more information about why she had been targeted: if she wasn’t going to ask, he wasn’t going to alienate her by telling her.

“Yeah.” She paused; Sam heard noises he couldn’t quite decipher from the other end of the line. Muffled, he heard her say “shit.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really, no. And it’s not just the date that, apparently, was literally from hell. I called you because something strange is going on. All of these John and Jane Does showing up, babbling about heaven and angels: Sam, do you guys know what that is? I’m hearing about doctors trying to get them committed, but it sounds like this is more your kind of thing than a mental health issue.”

“Yeah, it is.” Sam sighed. “Basically, one angel staged a, uh, a heavenly coupe d'etat, and kicked all of the others out. They all fell. They’re human, basically, but they still know that they were angels. There’s no amnesia involved.”

“Oh, God, the angels? Is that what that lightshow was?”

“Uh, yeah.” It had been the only thing in the news for a few days, but no one could make heads or tails of it and soon the news cycled over to something new.

“Well shit.”

“Language, Sheriff.”

Jody laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “So what are you going to do?”

“We’re working on it.”


	5. There's Something I Want to Try

“Cas, that was one hell of a feast.” Dean flopped back onto the bed, flinging one arm across his eyes. “We are seriously kick ass cooks.”

Cas shut the door behind him and walked over to the bed. He climbed on to straddle Dean’s lap. Pressing one hand to his lover’s belly, he hummed. “Too much?”

“Yes, jesus, it’s too much. Stop or I’ll puke!” Cas stopped. He lifted Dean’s shirt and kissed the spot where his hand had just been.

“Sorry,” he said. Dean just grabbed him and pulled him into a hug.

“Too much?” he murmured against Cas’s ear, sucking on the lobe.

“Hmm, no. More, I think.” In the weeks when Cas was adjusting to his humanity, the days he’d complained the fibers in his shirt felt like needles digging into his skin, everything was too hot, everything was too cold, Dean had asked him endlessly “too much?”. Bland foods, gentle touches: acclimating to his new senses. Soon, though, the oversensitization faded. But the habit remained, especially during sex. Cas would gasp, eyes widening in shock, and Dean would ask “too much?”. But it had never been too much, not yet. No, it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

“How many of those burgers did I eat, man? How many did you eat?” Dean was licking at his neck now, sliding a hand down to cup Cas’s ass.

“I stopped counting.”

“Ugh, fuck, I think I’m too full.” He kissed Cas.

“Too full? Really? I didn’t think you’d ever be too anything for this.” Cas demonstrated what this was by brushing a hand over Dean’s quickly hardening cock. Dean just growled and tried to flip Cas over onto his back. Cas was getting better at this wrestling thing, though, and managed to thwart Dean’s move with a well-timed lurch and wriggle. Dean grabbed at his wrists, scratching his plans to flip Cas as his stomach complained.

“Hold still! I couldn’t eat another bite. I’m full up to here.” Dean indicated his eyeballs. “Trust me, I need to digest.”

“Fine.” Cas was nearly pouting.

“Hey, we’ve still got some work to do on that movie list. You wanna watch something for a little while?”

“It’s going to need to have a lot of blood and a dearth of nudity if you want to make it through an entire movie with your virtue intact, Winchester.” Cas stomped over to the desk and turned on Dean’s laptop. He had become surprisingly proficient with computers once Sam had convinced him to learn the basics.

“Third one down in the queue.” Dean was pretty sure no one had ever successfully had sex to that particular gore fest before. But people and their kinks, man, who even knew. Maybe he was wrong.

*****

Cas had buried his face against Dean’s neck for about half of the movie, lazily tracing shapes against the fabric of Dean’s tee shirt with his index finger.

“That was utterly gratuitous,” he had said, the third time a severed head was launched towards the viewer.

“Too much?” Dean asked. “I figured it would be gross, but we’ve both seen worse, and it’s just so fake, I...” he trailed off, looking apologetic.

“Please, Dean, I’ve done worse. But this is violence for the sake of violence, contrived gore that serves no purpose. If one must commit an act of violence, it should serve the greater good.”

“Yeah, basically,” Dean agreed. “Dude, I feel like you just summarized my entire life in one sentence.” He kissed Cas on the forehead.

“I think I just summarized my entire existence in one sentence.”

Dean chewed at his lower lip, lost in thought.

“Dean, the movie is over.”

“Hmm?”

“Dean, you made me wait through an entire movie. It was long, and it was disgusting, and now I want my reward.”

“Your reward, yeah? What did you have in mind?” Dean leered at him unabashedly. Cas kissed him roughly, shifting his body to straddle Dean. It seemed to be his preferred position; Dean was not complaining.

It took Cas a few minutes to get his fill of Dean’s mouth enough to speak again. “So you had your fill of dinner, did you. Couldn’t eat another thing.” Cas slid his hands along Dean’s arms to pin his wrists to the bed and Dean just nodded. “Are you’re sure there’s nothing else you want in your mouth tonight?” he purred against Dean’s ear.

“Cas.” Dean’s pupils were blown wide with lust, his cheeks flushed. “Fuck, man.” Cas grinned and kissed him again. Time passed in a pleasurable haze of tongues and lips and teeth before Cas unpinned his wrists.

“There’s something I want to try.” Dean was certain that at some point, Cas saying those words would lead to something regrettable. Or deadly. Or just plain funny. But so far, they had only led to spectacular orgasams for the both of them, so until the universe proved him wrong Dean was going to follow Cas’s lead. “Pants off.”

“Bossy.”

Cas stripped out of his own clothing, watching as Dean did the same. There wasn’t any show to it, any tease, but he never got tired of watching the way Dean moved. Fully divested, he grabbed at Dean’s ankles to pull him down further on the bed. Dean scrambled to shift himself, laughing a bit at Cas’s impatience.

“Must be something pretty awesome you have in mind, Cas.”

Cas crawled onto the bed and kissed him again, but then turned so his head was towards Dean’s feet, mouth level with his...oh, which meant Dean’s mouth was level with Cas’s...oh.

“Oh.” Yeah, okay, this worked. Cas licked at Dean’s cock, mildly unsure how to proceed from this new angle, but fairly certain the same principles would apply.

“Oh. Fuck, Cas, that’s...” Cas smacked him on the arm, waving a hand towards his own neglected dick. Less talking, more sucking. Dean mentally hit himself on the forehead as he took Cas’s cock into his mouth. Cas was licking at the head of Dean’s cock now, swirls of tongue, tiny little sucks that teased fire to life in his gut.

Dean licked up Cas’s length in long, hot stripes until he had him fully wet. Sucking the head into his mouth, the bitter tang of Cas’s precome bloomed across his tongue. He moaned around Cas’s cock as he sucked him down, relaxing his throat until he had swallowed him fully.

“Fuck,” Cas muttered, picking up Dean’s bad habits. Dean smacked his ass, earning him a whimper and a roll of Cas’s hips. He squeezed, encouraging, licking at Cas’s shaft. Cas sucked Dean into his mouth, working up and down with his mouth and hand simultaneously as he began to fuck Dean’s throat. Dean moaned again, the vibrations causing Cas to moan.

This could quickly become a deliciously vicious cycle, and Cas wasn’t ready to be done yet. He pulled his hips back slightly, giving Dean a chance to breathe, before Dean gripped his ass firmly and sucked Cas all the way back down. Cas keened around his mouthful of cock.

There was something about giving and taking pleasure at the same time that heightened every sensation. The taste of Dean in his mouth, the weight and heat of him, heat and suction and fingers digging into the meat of his ass: every nerve in his body was alight.

His fingers were slick now, dripping with saliva as he traced them over Dean’s balls, brushing backwards to circle his entrance softly. He hadn’t tried this before, but Dean’s moan was more than a little enthusiastic, so Cas continued. Gently, he pressed the pad of his finger against the furled little bud of muscle, sucking harder at Dean’s cock, encouraging him to relax that fraction it would take for his finger to slip inside. And then he did: the tip of Cas’s finger was in. He pressed some more, sliding in to the second knuckle as Dean groaned softly. He began to fuck his finger in and out in time with his mouth, spit slicking the way for both. Carefully, he added a second finger; it seemed so tight, but Dean just groaned again, rocking his hips back onto Cas’s fingers to encourage him. Cas pressed both digits all the way in, then curved them slightly and pressed.

Dean whined around his mouthful of Cas’s cock, pulling off of him with a wet slurp to gasp “do that again.” His voice was rough; he licked at the head of Cas’s cock as he complied. “Fuck, Cas,” then Dean swallowed him down again and it was Cas’s turn to moan.

He felt himself getting close: he was more than a little impressed that he’d managed to hold on this long. Apparently stamina was something you had to work on developing; Dean was helping him practice. Dean gripped his hips tighter, tugged a little, inviting Cas to fuck his mouth again. He fucked his fingers in and out of Dean, earning a drawn out moan as he hit the right spot, and Cas couldn’t hold on any longer. The pleasure crested and he fell apart, heat shooting through his veins as he came down Dean’s throat.

Somehow, he had kept Dean in his mouth through that, as Dean reminded him to move with a little shift of his hips. Cas did, sucking him down and rubbing fingers against his prostate until Dean came with a shout, fingernails digging into Cas’s thigh. Cas swallowed, continuing to mouth and lick gently at Dean’s cock as he slid his fingers out.

Cas flipped himself around, minding his elbows and knees, so his head was next to Dean’s.

“So was that sufficiently awe inspiring?”

“That was completely awesome.”

Dean pulled him in for a kiss.


	6. The Pavement Shines Like Silver

It had been two months since the angels fell.

Cas was out for his morning run. There was no sun to accompany him today, and his shoes were soaked even though he had stayed out of the grass. It was drizzling miserably, the sky heavy with grey clouds. His feet made squelching noises with every step. The rain kept running into his eyes. It stung.

He was approaching the hill again, The Hill. He felt prepared as he started up it. His legs were strong today, like he could run for a year and not get tired.

There were a lot of things Cas hated about being human. He hated how slow everything was, how often he needed. Needed, desperately. He was hungry, or thirsty, or tired, or horny, his body endlessly demanding things he had never needed before. It was exhausting.

But there were good things, too, sometimes. Sex, of course, ranked at the top of the Good Things About Being Human list. Sex with Dean. That was definitely number one. (It was probably time to stop thinking about sex or this run was going to get very awkward.)

Food could be number two. He loved cooking it, touching the raw ingredients, working them to create a meal, savoring the looks on Sam and Dean’s faces as they ate. He loved food. He hated needing it.

Running probably ranked third. It reminded him that he was still strong, for what he was. That even though he felt impotent, he was not. That he was human, not helpless. Today, he felt flush with life as he ran.

Today, running was almost as good as flying.

Suddenly, he was on the ground, a searing burn where concrete had peeled the skin off of one knee. His ears were ringing, his head pounding.

What the...

_I know you all can still hear me, so listen closely. You are fallen. There is no way to get home. I have complete control of heaven._

The speaker’s voice, he knew that voice, if his head would stop spinning and he could just think for a moment he was sure he could place it.

_You are human now, with human souls, and when you die, you will die as humans. You will tell me the stories of your humanity. You will never be angels again._

The voice stopped. Cas sucked air into his lungs, dazed. _Metatron_. Metatron had been speaking. Apparently Cas could still hear angel radio; there just weren’t any angels using it.

Metatron.

He reached for his phone, zipped securely into the back of his shorts. But the screen would not light up. He realized that the rain had soaked it as surely as it had soaked him. He recalled Dean mentioning that this could be a problem. He recalled Sam suggesting a zippered plastic bag to protect the phone if Cas went for a run when it was raining. He had forgotten. His phone was not working.

Groggy, head still pounding, he stood. His knee ached. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make it back to the bunker. The fastest route was to simply complete the path he had been taking when Metatron called; he had another good mile and a half or so.

He hated being human.

One squishy foot in front of the other, Cas wished Dean was there to ask “too much?” right now. Yes, too much, too wet, too cold, too painful, too far.

*****

Sam was outside chopping wood when he saw a lone figure in the distance, stumbling up the road towards the bunker. He drove the axe blade through the wood on his chopping block, splitting it neatly. Rain ran in rivulets through the defined curves and valleys of his well-muscled back. He set the split pieces aside, then freed the blade from the block. Calloused hands loosened their grip on the worn axe handle as Sam shifted it to one hand while he strained to see the person who was still approaching. He raised a hand to his eyes to shield them, though it didn’t help. From his vantage point on the hillside, it was difficult to make out the person’s features clearly, but as he drew closer Sam realized it was Cas. He swung the axe in a low arc one more time, corded muscle flexing and sliding under tanned skin, to bury the blade in the chopping block. He took off down the hill towards Cas at a run.

“Cas, are you okay?” Sam ran a hand through his hair, brushing wet strands off his face. Cas had a rather dazed expression and kept rubbing at his forehead.

“No, I’m,” Cas looked at him finally, then squinted and tilted his head to the side. “Sam, what are you doing out here?”

“I was chopping some wood.” Sam waved his hand in the general direction of his prior activity.

“What for? We don’t have anything that requires wood. And why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Cas was frowning a little more now.

“I’m...” Sam paused. Why wasn’t he wearing a shirt? It was raining, and chilly. He was soaked but barely even sweating, which was remarkable given how hard he had been working. Cas wasn’t wearing a shirt either, come to think of it; his tee was tucked into the back of his running shorts despite the fact that he was shivering slightly. “I have no idea. Why aren’t we wearing shirts?”

“This seems gratuitous.”

“I have to agree with you.”

“Perhaps we should go inside and dry off.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam. Cas rubbed at his head again. “Are you okay, Cas? You’re bleeding.” Sam realized the front of Cas’s left leg was streaked with blood; it looked like he had skinned his knee.

“I fell,” Cas explained flatly. “I need to talk to you and Dean. Something’s happening in heaven, and my head hurts too much to explain it more than once.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s clean you up and find Dean. Why didn’t you call? Did you lose your phone?”

“My phone is wet. It won’t turn on.” Cas showed him the waterlogged device.

“You should have taken the baggie.” Cas agreed with Sam on that point, though it was now moot.

“I hope there are towels in the dryer. I would enjoy a warm towel right now.”

*****

Team Free Will gathered around a table in the library. All three were wearing shirts, though Sam and Cas’s were wet on the shoulders where their hair had dripped.

Cas had hissed when Dean poured the hydrogen peroxide over his knee; the joint was now swathed in white gauze beneath his jeans.

“Here,” Dean said, pushing a few tylenol and a glass of water towards Cas. “Sam says your head hurts, those might help.” Dean had briefly considered busting out the big guns, but with the orange bottle in his hand he had a really unpleasant flashback to another fallen Cas and orange bottles of pills. He decided to stick to non-addictive headache remedies.

Cas eyed the pills warily: Dean realized he’d never had to swallow pills before. “You just use the water to help wash them down. But don’t chew them, they’ll taste bad.” Cas picked up the small white pills, hesitantly using his palm to put them into his mouth. He took a huge gulp of water, swallowed, the coughed. He pulled a face and sipped some more water.

“Metatron made a, well, an announcement of sorts on ‘angel radio’ while I was running.” He made quotes in the air with his fingers around “angel radio”. “I was halfway up the hill, I think, when it happened. All of the sudden, I was sitting on the ground, and then I heard him.” He relayed the exact words of Metatron’s message to the brothers.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered. Sam looked worried.

“Every angel, well, fallen angel,” Cas corrected, wincing at his mistake, “would have heard him, even those who are unconscious. It was sort of like a broadcast, but Metatron does not seem to be using the system properly. I’m uncertain what he did, but it left me feeling very disoriented, like my skull was cracking in two.” His brow furrowed, as if he was trying to remember whether or not that could happen to humans. “It is possible this side effect was deliberate.” He looked at Dean imploringly. “I walked back in the rain. Sam wasn’t wearing a shirt.”

Dean shot Sam a questioning look; Sam just shook his head. He could explain later.

“That’s all. I think I’d like to go lie down now.” Cas was fading fast, and the medicine clearly hadn’t kicked in yet.

“Yep, okay.” Dean stood, pushing his chair back and walking around the table to help Cas out of his seat. “Sammy, we good?”

“Yeah. I’ll call Garth, see if anyone else has heard about this yet.” Sam’s expression was serious: finally, a development, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t a good thing.

Dean herded Cas back to their room with an arm around his waist. Cas was moving a little awkwardly thanks to his banged up knee. There wasn’t any permanent damage, but putting weight on it hurt right now and it would probably bruise up nicely.

Cas sat heavily at the foot of the bed while Dean pulled the covers back, then crawled up to lay his head on the pillow. He sighed miserably while Dean pulled the blankets around him, trying to help cover himself.

"Dean, I can do this. Dean."

Dean just let go of the blanket, raising his palms in acquiescence.

“I hate being human.” Cas had closed his eyes. Dean sat on the edge of the bed and brushed damp hair off his forehead. “Everything hurts, and it’s so slow, and I can’t do anything. Even when I need to.” He opened his eyes to look at Dean. “I scraped my knee, and I had to limp home in the rain. Dean, it was too much. I needed you. But my phone was wet.” Cas was frowning. “I hate being human.” Dean leaned over him, placing a gentle kiss against his lips.

“I’m sorry, Cas.” _I used to belong to a much better club_. Dean flinched away from the echo: that future was never going to happen. They’d already made sure of that. But he didn’t know what to say: Cas had suffered a huge loss, more or less had his entire identity ripped away from him. There really wasn’t anything else to say. He laid his hand against the fallen angel’s cheek. “I’m here, okay?” Cas held his gaze; he looked terrified. “Your head should feel better if you can sleep a little.”

Cas nodded, let his eyes fall closed. Dean shut off the light as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Cas had been coping well, relatively speaking. Dean had been dreading the first time he got sick or hurt (more than a papercut, and the papercut had been traumatic enough) and realized just how much being human could suck. He hadn’t counted on it happening like this.

*****

Dean felt like his head was spinning, like one of those rainbow things - pinwheels, he thought - that spun into a blur when you blew on them. The concrete floor was cold against his bare feet as he walked back to the library.

“Hey,” Sam said, fingers still tapping on his laptop’s keys. “So Garth hadn’t heard anything about this yet, but he’s putting the word out. He’s got a few hunters who are checking in on angels who’ve been released from whatever hospital they landed in, so he’s having them see if their stories match Cas’s.” Sam stopped typing, clicked something, and looked up at Dean. “How is he?”

“Sleeping it off.” Dean took a seat next to Sam, leaning one elbow on the table. “So what do we do about this?” He rubbed at his eyes; he felt like he might be developing a sympathy headache.

“I dunno, man. I emailed Kevin. He still has the angel tablet. I know he’s probably so far out of the game that he’s like, on Pluto by now or something, but if he’ll help us at all we could probably use it.” Sam felt immense guilt for essentially ruining the kid’s life and then failing to follow through on his end of the deal. It had come up in his fights with Dean. The way Dean’s jaw flexed told Sam that Dean remembered that clearly; he had nearly flinched at the mention of the prophet’s name. Kevin Tran: just another life in the pile of Winchester collateral damage. “So, we’ll see. Meanwhile, Metatron has basically just confirmed what we already thought. The angels are all human now, with human souls instead of grace. We haven’t had any accounts of any of them dying yet, have we?”

“No, don’t think so. Actually, that seems odd, doesn’t it?” Dean frowned: some of the angels had landed in seriously perilous conditions, but so far, every alarm on their system had turned up a living ex-angel. He looked at Sam as realization dawned. “You know what I’ll bet? That fucker Metatron kept them all alive through the fall. He wants their stories, yeah? Wants them to live as humans and come back and tell him their stories.” So all of the angels had survived this far due to “divine” intervention. “I’ll bet this little conference call means he’s done saving their bacon, now he’s just going to sit back and watch. Sick fuck.” Dean stood, started pacing.

“We should try to talk to Cas more after he sleeps. Maybe he’ll have some insight. Dean, I’m lost here.”

“Me too.”

Sam’s computer dinged: a new email.

“It’s Kevin. Wow, that was fast.” Fast was probably bad, in this case. Dean leaned over the back of Sam’s chair as Sam opened the email.

“Well, that’s a big old ‘fuck off,’” Dean grumbled. Kevin hadn’t written anything, he had just attached a photo, clearly taken by him, of himself with a girl wrapping her arms around him and leering at the camera. A girl who probably had on the bottom half of her bathing suit, but definitely not the top. There was sand, and ocean, and boobs, and Kevin. “Get it, Kev.” Dean was smirking now, amused in spite of the bad news. Sam sighed: so the prophet was a no-go.


	7. Heaven's Waystation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will doesn't know it yet, but they've got help on the inside. 
> 
> Warnings for alcohol and minor drug use reference.

Ash had his head tipped back, shotgunning a beer when Ellen burst through the door of the Roadhouse.

“Ash, did you get all of that?” she asked, approaching the bar. Ash’s laptop sat open on the gleaming wooden surface, strange symbols scrolling across the screen. It reminded Ellen of that movie, the Matrix. She shuddered internally: some days it felt like heaven was the fucking Matrix. She’d never wanted to be a hacker, but it had basically become a necessity. Hacking heaven. Absurd.

“Sure did,” Ash replied, crumpling the now-empty can in his fist and slinging it blindly over his shoulder. It landed perfectly in the lone trash can behind the bar. “Looks like our buddy placed a long distance call. Put out some kind of interference with it; can’t tell yet if he meant to or if he just doesn’t know how to work the damn thing.” Ash was doing that hacker thing now, where his fingers flew over the keyboard and things happened on the screen.

Ellen watched, wondering if she would ever understand what mashing the keys like that did. Another hunter changed the song on the bar’s old jukebox. They always had music, now: never out of quarters, never out of booze. Heaven had its perks. Balls clattered on the pool table; the break heralded the start of yet another game. “Jimmy, you got blisters on your hands from that pool cue yet?” Ellen called out.

“Nope, never will either!” Jimmy grinned and toasted her with his whiskey glass.

The door to the bar swung open again, and Jo and Bobby strode in. “What the hell was that?”

“Workin’ on it, hang on,” Ash called.

“Hey, honey.” Ellen embraced her daughter.

“Hey, mom. Where’s dad?”

“Oh, still out with some of the guys. I’m not sure they’ll ever manage to map this Axis Mundi thing, but they’re damn determined to try.” Jo just raised her eyebrows and nodded in agreement: some of the hunters were convinced they could map heaven.

The Axis Mundi was the main route through heaven. If you could figure out how to navigate it, you could get anywhere you wanted to go, making it a lot easier to move souls between their individual pockets of memories. It reminded Jo of the way her favorite book series described navigating the school’s castle: doors that appeared and disappeared, staircases you could only access every other Thursday, hallways that led different places depending on the weather. Something like that. Too many random variable to pin down. But they were determined to find order in the chaos, and she supposed they might as well try.

“‘Least they won’t have to worry about meeting up with any of our feathery friends, now.” Bobby was convinced this mapping quest was a fool’s errand, but at least it didn’t seem particularly dangerous. With this Metatron clown attempting to run the show on his own, and with all the chaos that had preceded his coup, they’d had pretty free run of heaven for a while now.

“Got something.” Ash turned his laptop so they could all see the screen. “So that message that our buddy broadcast had these things, sort of like tones, underlying it. Probably hurt like hell for all those poor bastards he was talking to. But the reason is that he wasn’t using his own grace to transmit it: he used theirs. Which means,” Ash tapped a few keys, “because I am awesome and recorded everything, we have a rough location where he’s storing them. All of them.”

“Idjit.”

“Why would he put all of them in one place?” Jo wondered. “That seems really risky.”

“Probably so he can use them as a power source for things like this. That’s an awful lot of raw juice, you know?” Ash was typing again. “So we’ve got a sort of a lock on where the graces are, but we don’t have a way to get to them yet. I’ll work on it, but we’re probably going to need Bill and the guys help.”

“Well, I guess he might be useful after all. I’ll see if I can get in touch.” Ellen headed over to a long table set against the wall, stacked high with spell-casting ingredients and reference books. Bobby’s heaven had included his library, thank...well, thank Bobby.

“I’ll go get Pamela.” Jo headed for the sigil-marked side entrance.

“Hey, have her bring me some more of that weed from the show, yeah? Top shelf shit.” Ash grinned at her as Jo flapped a dismissive hand in his direction.

“So what’s the plan?” Bobby asked Ash.

“Well, I figure if all those fallen angels on earth can still hear angel radio, maybe I can hack it and we can talk to them too.” Ash had perched his chin on his fists and was staring at his laptop screen intently.

“We’ve got to do something about this Metatron guy. As much as the holy host have always been a bag of dicks, he’s worse. No way this turns out well for anyone.”

“Yeah, turns out the old system was better after all.” Ash passed Bobby a beer, cracking open one for himself.

“Still not a very flattering comparison.” Bobby pulled a face: they were in heaven, and Ash still preferred this swill.

“Anyways, I think I should be able to single out specific angels with this. Problem is, who we gonna call?”

“I’ve got an idea. And chances are, he’s with the Winchesters.”


	8. Skill Set

There was a serious shitstorm brewing, Sam could just feel it.

Garth had called back, and the news was mostly just plain confusing. The other fallen angels didn’t just report the same effects as Cas; they apparently could feel the touch of their own grace in the message. As if Metatron had somehow included that information along with his words. And this wasn’t just one particular angel. Every one they had been able to talk to so far reported exactly the same thing.

Sam was stumped. From what he knew, it was possible Cas’s grace was being treated differently. Dean mentioned that it had been used in a spell, the spell Metatron had told Cas were trials. Apparently, Cas’s grace had been the final ingredient.

Dean hadn’t elaborated on what the other elements of the spell were, come to think of it. Sam supposed he should find out: maybe there was a clue in there as to why Cas had been affected differently by the message.

So, Sam was working on the assumption that Cas’s grace was somehow separated from that of the other angels, and for some reason Metatron had not included it in his message despite the fact that Cas still heard it.

He would have tried to research angel grace more, tried to figure out how it could be stored, or how Metatron might have pulled this little trick, but he didn’t have any sources to turn to.

Well, he had one source.

He really needed Kevin’s help with this, naked beach girls or not.

*****

“So, if you’re going to be human, Cas, I want you to know how to use a gun. You don’t have to be a hunter, but we have these things around all the time and shit happens. You could hurt yourself accidentally if your don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean had pulled out his own Colt 1911, unloaded it, and set it out on the ledge in front of him.

Cas nodded, one elbow leaned on the ledge next to the gun. It was cooler down here, in the firing range, the air sharp with the scent of gunpowder. A humanoid target hung behind him, set at the furthest distance possible in this range.

“This is the safety.” Dean pointed out key features on the gun, how to check if it was loaded without shooting yourself, how to make it so you wouldn’t shoot yourself on accident. “Mostly, don’t be an idiot, okay?”

The protectiveness would have been cute, Cas thought, if he didn’t actually need to be protected from guns now. He just nodded, listening to Dean’s voice echo off the cement walls.

“Here, let me show you how to shoot it.” Dean hadn’t loaded the gun. He handed it to Cas. “Aim at the target.”

Cas rolled his eyes. Aim at the target. Thank fuck Dean was here to tell him these things. He raised the gun to eye level, turning his hips perpendicular to the target and angling his shoulders.

“Almost,” said Dean, stepping up behind him. He nudged Cas’s feet a little wider apart, aligning Cas’s back to his front. He placed his hands on Cas’s upper arms and adjusted his aim slightly. “Like this.” Cas was fairly certain those posture adjustments were unnecessary, but he leaned back against Dean anyways, the heat of their bodies seeping through his tee shirt. “And then you just squeeze gently on the trigger...”

Cas squeezed, and the gun made a hollow clicking sound. “Of course, if it was loaded, you’d have to brace for the kick.” Dean stepped back. “Do you remember how to load it?”

But Cas was already moving, smooth movements loading the gun, racking the slide, safety off. Two shots to the heart, two to the head. His aim was nearly perfect.

He reset the safety and set the gun on the ledge. Dean looked a little stunned.

“Okay.” Dean nodded. “Um, it looks like you’ve pretty much got this down.” He seemed tense, somehow, mouth slack and eyes wide.

“Sam showed me last week.” Dean just raised his eyebrows a little higher and nodded.

“‘course he did.”

“I wanted you to show me anyways.”

“What for?” Dean asked, huffing a laugh. Cas looked down, glancing at the gun again, then stepped over to where Dean was leaned against the wall.

“I like it when you help me practice things. When you teach me human things.” He rested his hands on Dean’s hips, leaning into his “personal space”. Funny how Dean didn’t fuss about that anymore.

“You hate being human.”

“Some parts of it are alright.” He kissed just beneath Dean’s jaw.

“Which parts do you mean?”

“Sex, Dean,” he replied, pressing the full length of his body against Dean’s, “I mean sex.”

Dean laughed at that, then laughed again, then flopped his head against Cas’s shoulder as his body shook. “Fuck, Cas,” he gasped against Cas’s neck, “I love you.”

Dean froze, no longer laughing, and slowly pulled his head back so he could see Cas’s face. “I mean, um...” Cas kissed him, hard, a firm press of lips.

“Don’t you dare take it back.” He grabbed Dean’s face, forcing him to look right into his eyes. “I love you too.” Dean flushed scarlet, but at that he smiled softly. He closed his eyes and shook his head a little.

“Wow.” He ducked his head back against Cas’s neck. “Uh, so where were we before my little outburst?” His words were muffled, his breath hot on Cas’s skin.

“Sex. Or, maybe you would prefer the term ‘making love’?”

“Shut up.” Dean kissed him roughly, forcing the issue. “There _are_ really awesome things about being human.”

“I think I’m going to need a demonstration.”

“Alright, then, cowboy.” Dean turned Cas by the shoulders and marched him over to the ledge where his gun still sat. “Drop ‘em,” he growled in Cas’s ear. Cas fumbled with his button and zip while Dean secured his weapon, leaving it on the table by the door. When he walked back towards Cas, he came into view just in time to watch denim slip over his ass and slide down to pool around his ankles. “Good,” he murmured, palming Cas’s ass. “Bend over for me.” Cas rested his head on his forearms as he bent over the ledge. Dean bent down behind him, lifting first one leg and then the other to help Cas out of his jeans. Cas smelled like Dean’s soap, the subtle notes twined with his skin’s scent, and something darkly possessive curled in Dean’s stomach at that realization. He nudged Cas’s feet a little wider, then knelt on Cas’s discarded jeans. (The concrete was hard, okay? And he was planning on being here awhile.) He dragged his thumb up Cas’s crack, earning him a startled gasp.

“Dean, what are you...” Cas swallowed. “What are you doing?”

“You trust me?” Even to his own ears, his voice already sounded rough, fucked out.

“Yes, of course.” Cas said it quietly, still sounding confused. Oh, he was going to love this. Dean pressed a hand to his own increasingly insistent erection, trying to find some relief in the pressure.

“Good. Keep your hands there. There’s something I want to try.” He licked over Cas’s entrance, a hot wet stripe without preamble. Cas’s moan echoed off the walls of the firing range. Dean did it again, softly, little teasing licks around the furled muscle, drawing absolutely obscene noises from Cas’s mouth. He probed gently with his tongue, using his hands to spread Cas’s cheeks. Flat, dragging licks, then he pressed his thumbs to either side of his hole and thrust again with his tongue. His tongue slipped in, just a bit, and Dean found himself moaning. This was filthy, his rational mind told him, and there was no earthly reason he should enjoy it so much. But he couldn’t help himself. He sealed his mouth around Cas’s hole and sucked while his tongue fucked in and out. Cas was shaking now, his legs turned weak with pleasure. Dean continued his assault, carefully taking Cas apart with sensation.

“Dean, please, it’s...” Dean paused, waiting. “Don’t stop!” Cas keened. “Don’t stop,” he begged again, voice low and rough. Dean continued as Cas cried out. “Please, it’s not enough, I need...” he trailed off. Dean sucked a finger into his mouth. He understood need, knew how to fix it.

“Yes,” Cas gasped, as Dean pressed a finger inside him. “Yes,” as he fucked his hips back onto the finger, eager, aching for more sensation, for friction, nearly desperate with desire. Dean curved his finger, seeking that one spot he knew would drive Cas completely crazy. He knew he had found it when Cas loosed another moan that echoed around the room.

“Fuck, Cas, you like that?” The words slipped out of his mouth; Dean wasn’t actually sure he’d said them aloud until Cas answered him.

“Yes, more. Lick me more.” Dean smiled to himself, relishing Cas’s directness. He licked around where his finger was sliding in and out, adding a second, striking again against Cas’s prostate.

“Dean, I need more.” Cas was practically babbling now, aching to come. “Dean, I don’t like needing things. Please, let me come.” There was a note of near-panic in his voice, sharp-edged desperation, his fingers a white-knuckled grip on the concrete ledge.

“Almost, Cas, you’re almost there,” Dean said, massaging Cas’s ass cheek with his free hand, “you can come on my fingers, I know you can. C’mon Cas, you can do it.” He thrust his fingers a little harder, thumb rubbing over Cas’s perineum.

“Dean, I...”

“C’mon, baby, c’mon.” Dean was licking around his fingers again, keeping his rhythm steady. He felt Cas’s thighs clench moments before he felt the clench around his fingers. Cas loosed a guttural groan as he came, his release splattering onto the floor beneath him. His legs gave way; Dean caught him just in time, setting him with his back to the wall. Cas looked flushed, dazed, deliciously fucked out, and Dean couldn’t wait any longer. He scrabbled to open his own jeans with his clean hand, wrapping his warm, slick fingers around his cock. He groaned at the relief and pleasure the pressure brought. Cas was watching him now, watching as his hand tugged at his cock, thumb running over the head. Cas licked his lips, met Dean’s eyes, and that was all she wrote. He was coming, his own shout echoing back to his ears.

Cas captured his hand, pulled it to his mouth, and licked the come from his index finger and thumb greedily. He kissed Dean, and the taste almost made him wish he could get hard again right now.

“Baby?” Cas asked skeptically. Dean just shrugged. “Don’t use your car’s pet name on me.” He tugged his shirt off, sacrificing it for the remaining clean-up.

“Hey, I bear a limited responsibility for whatever the hell comes out of my mouth during sex.” Cas fixed him with quite the bitch face; Sam must have been teaching him that too. “But I’ll try. What would you prefer? Sweetheart? Sugar lips? Stud?” He hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow Cas rolled his eyes even harder.

“No. Just...no. Not any of that.” They helped each other stand up; Cas pulled his jeans back on. “You could call me love.” He turned to look at Dean. “Don’t some people do that?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, feeling his heart trying to escape through his mouth for probably the third time in the last hour, “yeah, that works.” _Love_. Fuck.

*****

“I don’t understand why we can’t just drive your car.”

“And that is exactly why we’re not driving my baby. This one is fine, look, the brakes even work.”

“I thought I was your baby.”

“Shut up and put it in drive. No, put your foot on the brake, then shift. Yes, like that.”

Cas eased off the brake and on the gas. The car lurched forward and he stomped on the brake.

“Finesse, dude, take it easy.” Cas just rolled his eyes and tried again. This time, the car accelerated smoothly. He drove for a few moments before coming to a gentle stop.

“Did Sam already teach you this too?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“No, it just isn’t that difficult.” Dean continued to look suspicious, so Cas rolled his eyes. “Really, Dean, how old were you when you learned to drive?”

“Fourteen, I think.” Maybe younger. “Okay, fine, I see your point. You know that empty lot around the corner? Let’s go practice some turns there.”

Cas drove smoothly again. Dean pointed out the stop sign.

“Dean, I know what a stop sign is.”

“Well, sorry for trying to help, man. It’s a little tricky knowing what the gaps in that encyclopedia you call a brain are, and it seemed important enough to mention.”

Suddenly, Cas swerved and stomped on the brakes. He grabbed at his head.

“Cas, what is it?” Dean yanked up the parking brake, not taking any chances. It wasn’t their car (technically, it was stolen, albeit temporarily), but there were risks and then there were stupid risks.

“It’s Bobby.”

*****

They were all gathered around Ash’s laptop. The Roadhouse was as full as the earthly version had ever been, hunters across heaven joining forces. When they said there was no such thing as retiring from the life, it turned out that they really weren’t kidding.

It had been decided that Bobby should do the talking, considering he was the one who knew Cas best. Ash hadn’t expected it to be easy to get a lock on the fallen angel, but Metatron’s signal had reached him, so Ash knew it was in there.

It turned out to be a lot easier than expected. Cas’s trace stuck out like a sore thumb.

“It’s weird,” Ash said, “but Cas’s grace wasn’t attached to that signal.” He had no idea why. He’d just poked around that trace first because it was different, and it ended up being the right one.

“As long as you’re sure it’s him.” Bobby really didn’t want to end up chatting with some random asshole.

“Oh, it’s your Cas alright.”

“Not really _my_ Cas,” Bobby muttered, not bothering to explain.

“Okay, here goes. We’re live in five, four, three...” Ash continued the countdown silently on his fingers: two, one.

“Cas, can you hear me?”

**It’s Bobby.**

“Hey Cas,” Bobby found himself grinning.

**No, Dean, I can hear Bobby. He’s on ‘angel radio’.** Bobby could practically hear the air quotes in Cas’s voice. So he was with Dean right now. Perfect. **No, I am not repeating that.**

“Cas, listen up. Ash has this connection open, but we only have so long. There’s a decent chance our big buddy is listening in. But here’s what you need to know: we have a plan. We know how to bring the angels back.”

There was silence for a moment, and Bobby was afraid they’d lost Cas.

**Explain.**

“We’ve figured out where, uh, Buddy stashed the hosts’ graces. We can get to them.” Bill and company had come through with a few viable routes to the location. “And we’ve got a spell that’ll let us send them all back to the angels.” Bobby explained the ritual: a fallen angel had to die, a spell cast over them as their soul entered heaven. The angel had to get to the physical location of the graces in heaven, and then a second spell could be used to conduct them through their former body back to any earthbound angels. “It seems like a kind of escape hatch. We’ve patched it together from a number of other spells. We’re pretty sure it was never meant to be used for this, but it ought to serve well enough.”

**Met-. “Buddy” won’t let any of us near those graces, though, even if we find a volunteer.**

“Yep. Gonna need a back door.”

**We’ll work on it.**

“We had a question, though, Cas.” Bobby hadn’t been sure that he would have time to ask, but Ash hadn’t given him the wrap-it-up sign yet, so he had to ask. “Buddy’s signal, he overlaid it with a trace of each angel’s grace so they would be able to feel it. Except for you. There was no grace on your signal.”

**“Buddy” cut out my grace as a part of the spell he used to make the angels fall.** Cas’s tone was flat: Bobby wasn’t sure if he was pissed, or hurt, or just didn’t want to think about it. Probably some combination of those things.

Well, fuck.

“Balls.” Now Ash was signaling, circling an index finger in the air. “Hey, look, time for me to go. Good talking to you, Cas.”

**Perhaps next time you should not call when I’m learning to drive.**

The connection ended. Bobby looked around: everyone seemed to agree that things had gone about as smoothly as they could have, considering. He had no idea what to do about Cas’s grace. If Metatron hadn’t used it up in the spell, was it possible he was keeping it with him? Or had stashed it somewhere apart from the others? He wasn’t sure they’d be able to help Cas, if that was the case.

*****

“Cas? What’s happening? Who’s Buddy?” Dean was gripping his shoulder tightly. “Cas, talk to me.”

Cas had his head clutched in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut as he spoke. “Bobby and some others are working against Metatron from the inside. Bobby was afraid he might be able to pick up on the signal, so he didn’t want to say his name.” Cas looked at Dean, eyes wide. “They think they’ve figured out a way to restore the host.”

“What do we need to do?”

“It’s a spell. Well, two spells. And an angel has to die. But we need to find a route through heaven to the location where the graces are stashed - a backdoor, first.”

Dean nodded. Then he laughed. Then he started laughing hysterically, until he couldn’t breathe and there were tears streaking his face.

“What? What’s so funny, Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean gasped out, “Cas, what if Bobby had called like two hours earlier?” Two hours ago, when Dean had his tongue buried in Cas’s _backdoor_. “What’s the protocol for angel radio during sex?”

“I have no idea.” Cas looked horrified.


	9. Translation

From: Sam Winchester

To: Kevin Tran

Subject: Life or Death Situation

> Kevin,
> 
> I know you’re out. But we really, absolutely need your help. I’m sorry.
> 
> Just one piece of information. We’re betting the Angel Tablet includes it.
> 
> We need to know if there’s a back door into heaven. Something a soul can use to bypass the normal channels.
> 
> That’s it. Please.
> 
> -Sam

* * *

 

To: Sam Winchester

From: Kevin Tran

Subject: RE: Life or Death Situation

> There is. I’ve attached directions.
> 
> You’re lucky I remembered translating that; I don’t even have the tablets with me anymore.

* * *

 

Kevin hadn’t even signed the email. Sam opened the attachment: a .jpeg of Kevin’s handwriting that covered an entire notebook page in a jumble of enochian sigils. He recognized some of the symbols, but couldn’t make any sense of it. Sam hadn’t ever seen any type of map of heaven before; he imagined any sort of representation required extremely advanced mathematics. He just hoped Cas could understand this well enough to tell them if it would help.

The catch to the whole plan was that Metatron already knew about this back door. If it was on the tablet, Metatron knew. Sam wondered if Metatron knew that they knew, or if he knew that they knew that he knew. It was a dizzying cycle: basically, they just had to plan on Metatron knowing every detail of their plan, and hope it worked anyways.

It was reckless as hell. It was also their only shot.

*****

“Dean, I’m fairly certain this herb lost its potency a few decades ago.”

“What is it?” Dean dusted off his hands and strode over to the shelf Cas was currently rifling through. They were raiding the Men of Letters spell ingredients for the list Bobby had given Cas, but there were a number of things they were going to have to come up with on their own. Some of the ingredients had turned to unrecognizable sludge or dust in the years since their last use.

“Um, Laurus Nobilis. Oh. I think we have some in the kitchen.”

“What?”

“Bay leaves.” Cas opened the jar and sniffed, then sneezed. “These are no good.”

Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket. How he got a signal down here, he had no idea. He suspected it was the same hoo-doo that was giving them a solid wi-fi signal.

“Sam wants our help with something upstairs. Apparently Kevin came through.” Dean looked mildly surprised. “Anything else we need to raid the kitchen for while we’re up there?”

“Um,” Cas was trying to think of the common name of the other herbs he wanted to replace, if possible. His mind was frustratingly slow at the translations. “Basil. And fennel seed.”

“Okay. I’d say bring the jars, but I have a feeling our spice rack stock won’t exactly replenish the Spells department of Costco anyways.” Cas shot a quizzical look at Dean’s back before grabbing the ingredient list and following him upstairs.

*****

“I can read this, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense.” Cas was squinting at the print-off of Kevin’ notes. “I think he compressed the representation in order to render it in this medium.”

“What.” Dean crossed his arms, his expression expectant.

“I’m going to need to re-draw it in order to read it. And I’m going to need a lot of space.”

*****

Sam had picked up a roll of butcher paper from an art supply store in town. He spread the wide brown sheet of it over the map table in the war room. Cas was currently kneeling on it, working from the free end back towards the roll, carefully drawing lines connecting various enochian sigils.

“Here.” Dean set a tray on the table, bearing a sandwich and a giant glass of iced tea. “How goes the celestial cartography?”

“Not as quickly as I’d hoped.” Cas set down his pen and pointedly moved the tray to a large blank section of paper. “I think I’m going to be able to accurately denote the key characteristics, but it is taking much longer for my human brain to perform the calculations than...” he paused, swallowing. “But it will likely remain impossible for anyone but an...a former angel to read this.”

“Well, that’s who will be using it, so that’s not a problem.”

“Dean, this volunteer, they have to die?”

“Isn’t that what Bobby said?”

“I don’t think we can ask anyone to do that.” It took Dean a few seconds to realize what Cas was saying.

“No, no. I’m not letting you volunteer for this.”

“What do you mean, not letting me. I need to help.” Cas tensed up; he was dangerously close to anger.

“It probably wouldn’t work with you anyways. Your grace didn’t come through on the message, so it probably won’t be with the others. So you can’t be the conduit. You can’t do this.” Dean swallowed. “And you are helping. This,” he gestured at the map, “is helping.”

“Dean, I...”

“It wouldn’t work, Cas. Look, I didn’t let Sammy sacrifice himself in the trials, and I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself now. Why is everyone around here so eager to bite it, huh?”

“You think you could stop me from trying if I were determined?”

“Cas, it won’t work.”

“I may not be an angel anymore, Dean, but you couldn’t stop me.” Cas was calm, now, sure of his words.

“Cas, you can’t. What if...what if it didn’t work, and you were dead. Who would resurrect you this time? We’ll find someone else.”

Cas looked at Dean with sudden clarity. “You need me.”

“I said that.”

“No, but...” He shook his head, surprise and hope lighting his features. “I didn’t understand, before.” Cas spoke softly. “You need me, not my help. Just me.”

“Yeah, Cas, that whole love thing wasn’t just because you have a great ass.” Dean stepped closer to the table, reaching out to brush Cas’s hair out of his face.

“But my ass is an important factor.” Dean grinned and kissed him.

“Hell, yeah. Eat your sandwich.”

Cas sat cross legged on the table, and ate his lunch.  


	10. Last Night on Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We might die tomorrow, and you're not even going to try the last night on earth line on me?"

“Dean, wake up.”

“Huh? Cas, what time is it?”

“1:36 am. Are you awake?”

“You know what question a person can never honestly say no to?”

“No. This really doesn’t seem like the time for riddles.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m awake. What do you need at 1:36 in the morning?” Dean wouldn’t have grumbled a bit if Cas had just crawled into bed naked and woken him up with a mouth on his dick (it wouldn’t be the first time), but Cas was tense and fully clothed. No sex, then. He reached over and clicked on the light on his nightstand, wincing at the sudden brightness.

“Bobby contacted me again.”

“Does Bobby know what time it is?” Dean realized he must be getting soft if he was fussing this much about being woken in the middle of the night. But he had been in the middle of a really pleasant dream, and his dick hadn’t gotten the memo about no more sex (dream or real) yet.

“Do you need me to explain temporal relativity between realms again, Dean?”

“No, professor. What did Bobby say?”

“He wanted to know if we had what we needed on our end, and let me know that they were ‘itching to move’ and he wants us to ‘shake a leg’.” Cas was doing the air quotes thing again. Dean could explain that he could hear the quotes in his voice when he spoke, but he found this habit oddly adorable. “I told him about the back door and Nadiel. How we’re driving up to her cabin for the ritual. He should be able to contact me late tomorrow, so we can make final arrangements.”

“Ugh, that sounds so dire. ‘Final arrangements’.” Dean did not make air quotes.

“How long will it take to drive to Minnesota, Dean?” Cas had been dreading the car trip, every mile of asphalt a reminder of what he could no longer do. He longed to be able to fly.

“Ten, twelve hours. Depends on weather and stuff.” Cas was silent. “You’ll be fine, Cas. Being on the road is nice. It’s...peaceful.” The truth was, Dean missed it. He was looking forward to the long drive. Cas didn’t say anything, just nodded a little. Dean tried to relax, but a question still tickled at the back of his brain. “Cas, look, whatever happens, I just...” He paused, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “You’ll always have a place here, yeah? Whatever happens.” He closed his eyes and rolled over so his back was towards Cas.

“Dean.” Dean did not move. He tried to will himself back to sleep. “Dean. You aren’t saying something. It seems to be important, because I have no idea what is going on.”

“It’s nothing, Cas. Go to sleep.”

"Dean.” Cas laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder where it was covered by the blanket. “It isn't nothing. What are you worried about?” Silence. “We might die tomorrow, and you're not even going to try the last night on earth line on me?" Cas hoped a bit of humor might loosen Dean's tongue. And he was honestly a little disappointed that the threat to their lives didn't have Dean pounding him through the mattress already.

"Is this going to be our last night, Cas? If we're successful, if you get your mojo back, are you gonna flap off with all the other angels?" Deep down, so repressed that Dean could barely admit it to himself, he was terrified that he was going to be left in the dust. And as much as he wanted Cas to be happy (more than he wanted anything, more than his own happiness), and as much as he understood how getting his grace back was an important part of that, Dean was certain that a re-powered Cas would have no further use for his human ass.

Cas pulled on his shoulder, hard, until Dean was flat on his back. Gently, he cupped Dean's face. He leaned in close.

"Dean, what part of ‘I love you’ don't you understand?" He sounded angry, even a little hurt. "I will never willingly leave you. Not permanently. You are my home, Dean; I belong exactly wherever you are." He rubbed the pad of his thumb lightly across Dean's cheekbone. "No night will be our last, unless I am obliterated from existence or you ask me to leave."

"I'll never ask." Dean growled. "Never, Cas. And don't you dare go getting obliterated on me." Cas was quiet for a moment, his face contemplative as he held Dean’s gaze.

"I will probably still be human when we've finished the ritual, you know. No flapping off for me."

"We'll get your grace back, Cas. Whatever it takes." Dean wasn't sure how they would manage this, but he was hoping that restoring the host would earn Cas at least this one favor. "All your buddies are seriously going to owe you one."

"Do you want me to be an angel again, Dean?"

The answer was complicated, wrapped in a tangle of what Cas wanted for himself, and what Dean wanted for Cas, and what Dean wanted for himself, and what Cas wanted for Dean. But it boiled down to one word. "Yes. Yes, Cas, I do, because I want you to be happy."

Cas smiled sadly, then his face twisted into a frown. Moisture streaked down his face. "Tears," he said softly, disbelief and awe in his voice. His eyes burned; he felt salty liquid weighing down his eyelashes. He had never given even a moment's consideration to his own eyelashes before this. Dean reached up a hand to wipe the tears away, then pulled him in for a lingering kiss.

It was amazing what the simple slide of lips and tongues could do for his soul. Dean lost himself in the sensations as Cas soothed fears he had never managed to voice. _No night will be our last_.

"Dean," Cas murmured against his lips. "Out of all of my Father's creation, out of everything that is or was, I choose to be with you." It was a sin, he thought, to love this human more than anything, to love anything above his Father, but Cas was lost to this love a long time ago. Love that had burned into his core, as much a part of him as anything in his existence had ever been, rooted so deeply that, soul or grace, he knew he would never be able to remove it. And he would never want to.

"I don't think I'll ever understand why," Dean replied, placing his hands on either side of Cas's face and pulling away just enough to meet his eyes. Dean felt like a giant sap, like a fool, and all he could think was that he never wanted to stop feeling like this. "But I love you too." He wrapped his arms around Cas and held him tightly, as if he could seal this moment into his heart if he squeezed hard enough.

Cas licked at his neck, increasing his efforts as Dean loosened his arms and arched into the kisses, stopping only when Dean was unable to suppress a moan, and he could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against his own. "Just a sec," he murmured. He climbed off of Dean to strip out of his remaining clothing.

"Hey, don't I get to do that?" Dean fussed, amused. Cas was down to his boxer briefs, but he stopped with his thumbs hooked into the waistband. Carefully, he stepped out of his jeans. Dean sat on the edge of the bed and Cas moved into the vee of his legs. Dean smiled at him, pleased, before kissing just to the right of his belly button. He bit the same spot, softly, then kissed it again. He brushed a hand over Cas's hardened dick before smoothing both thumbs just above the waistband of his boxers. Pressing Cas back a step, he leaned forward so he could mouth at it through his underwear. Cas tipped his head back and carded his fingers through Dean's sleep-tousled hair.

"Are you going to try to blow me with them still on?" Cas asked, confident enough that this was not what Dean planned to plant the idea in his mind.

"Not this time, love." Love. Cas grinned, then tipped his head down to see that Dean wore a matching expression.

"What then?" And so what if he sounded a little breathless? Dean took his breath away.

Dean just smiled at him, his grin widening into a cheshire-like expression. He opened the drawer on the nightstand and retrieved the lube. "You're leaving those on for now," he said, motioning to Cas's boxers. "Can't have you getting overeager."

Cas just raised an eyebrow: he might be a novice to sexual experience, but he was certainly not naive. One of these days, he was going to have to tell Dean about some of the more lurid things he'd witnessed. He was certain he had seen things that would make even this veteran blush.

Dean shucked his own boxers and lay back on the bed with his legs spread. He drew his heels in and let his knees splay open. Cas felt a little dumbstruck; Dean hadn't ever displayed himself quite like this before. "Come here." His words were gentle. Cas moved to kneel between his legs. He leaned up over Dean's body to kiss him, groaning as they rubbed against each other. Cas felt resentful towards the cloth that still clung to his body, preventing him from pressing all of his skin against Dean's. Finally, he relinquished Dean's mouth and leaned back. "Give me your hand." Dean flicked open the cap on the lube and drizzled some onto Cas’s fingers.

Oh.

So this was happening.

Cas felt like his heart might climb out of his throat. Either that or he was going to come untouched, still in his boxers.

"You want a step-by-step here, Casanova, or..." Dean hissed as Cas circled a slick finger around his entrance. He closed his eyes and nodded, laughing a little at himself. When he opened his eyes, Cas's gaze was fixed on his face as he licked his lips. Cas brushed his finger over his entrance again, and Dean bit back a moan.

Cas wanted to continue the tease, but considering he was an essential part in the...culmination of this effort, he thought he had better not draw things out too long. He pressed the pad of a finger to Dean's hole, gently increasing the pressure until it slipped inside. Dean had closed his eyes, and did not open them as Cas continued. He kept biting at his lips and pressing them together, but every now and then a sound escaped him. Two fingers now: Dean gasped at the addition, but relaxed as Cas began to stroke in and out of  him. He tried to remember what Dean had done with his fingers, crooking them just so until Dean's body went rigid and he groaned. There, then. Cas did it again, scissoring his fingers apart and brushing against Dean's prostate on every third or fourth stroke. Dean opened beautifully to him, swallowing up his fingers and rolling his hips in time with Cas's strokes.

"'m ready, Cas." He opened his eyes: Cas was staring at him, lips parted and pupils blown wide. He looked fucked out already, and Dean was the one being touched. "You probably want to take your boxers off for this part." Cas seemed to come back to himself slightly, pulling his fingers out of Dean gently, before standing up on the bed to removed the offending garment. A wet area had bloomed across the fabric where it rested against the head of his cock. Kneeling again, Dean handed him the lube and he slicked himself, hissing at the cold contact. He lined himself up at Dean's entrance before leaning over him again to press a kiss to his lips as he pressed inside. It was tight, so tight and hot and so much more than he had imagined as Dean slowly accepted his length. He bottomed out and stilled, willing himself to have enough self control to not end this yet. He pressed his forehead against Dean's and took a few deep breaths. Then, he pulled back enough to watch Dean's face as he pulled out, slowly, then thrust back in. Dean arched beneath him, hands scrabbling down Cas's sides to get a firm grip on his ass.

It was painfully perfect, the roll of their hips together, grab of hands and slide of lips. Dean's body was lit up with pleasure; every place Cas was touching him felt like sparks were dancing across his skin. He threw his head back as Cas hit his prostate. Cas sucked at his pulse point as he kept that angle, driving his hips with more force now. He wrapped one hand around Dean's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

"Dean," he gasped, "I don't know how much, I," Cas whimpered against his neck.

"S'okay, I've got you, love. Let it go." He felt Cas's rhythm falter at the name, a groan ripping from his chest as he buried himself in Dean and shuddered. Dean wrapped his hand around Cas's, continuing the strokes as he felt Cas pulse; a few tight tugs, and the spasms of Cas coming inside him sent him over the edge. His breath punched out of him as he streaked white over their joined hands.

When he came to, Cas was licking their hands clean. Gingerly, he pulled his softening cock out of Dean before flopping onto his back next to him. He hummed contentedly, grinning at Dean when their eyes met. Dean pulled the sheet over them both, brushing sweat-damp hair off Cas's forehead. He knew he’d leave a mess on the sheets, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to get up right now. Cas turned his head and kissed him, kissing the taste of himself back into his mouth and Dean wondered if Cas had any idea how many different kinds of hot that was, before pulling Dean's back to his front. _Bossy little fucker. Let him top one time..._ Cas pressed a kiss to Dean's shoulder, drifting off as he buried his nose against the back of Dean's neck.

Dean willed himself not to think about what was waiting tomorrow, letting himself drift in the afterglow, anchored by the warmth of Cas's body against his own, the weight of the arm wrapped around his waist. He threaded his fingers with Cas's and pulled them against his chest. Cas's quiet snores lulled him to sleep.


	11. Illumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for voluntary sacrificial character death (as previously discussed).

The asphalt hummed under the Impala's tires as Team Free Will trekked northward. Dean drove while Cas rode shotgun. Sam had been more than happy to relinquish his spot in favor of a nap in the back seat. He slept through the first gas stop of the day, but woke as Dean pulled back out onto the highway.  

“Cas, what do you know about Nadiel?” Sam asked, clearing his throat of the sleep-roughness. He knew Cas had been speaking to her, had begun speaking to a few of his brethren in the past week. It had been tricky to track down the ones he felt he could trust, but Garth was apparently a miracle worker.

There’s that saying that goes _the enemy of my enemy is my friend_ , and Sam had figured that any of the fallen angels would be willing participants in any plan to restore them to heaven. But Cas wasn’t sure that some of them wouldn’t actually side with Metatron, drawn to command and power like moths to a flame. And millennia of politics and family baggage didn’t just disappear over one little coup d'etat.  So they had to be careful, still.

“I never knew Nadiel well, although she has supported my...ambitions, such as they were, in the past. I believe her heart is always in the right place.” If Cas trusted her, that would have to be good enough for the rest of them, Sam supposed.

“Has she spent much time on earth?” Sam’s curiosity was like an itch. He knew most of the fallen host had not been on earth in millenia, vessels for them conjured from the proper genetic lineage by the spell. That was some kind of twisted blessing: without their grace, they could not take their trueforms anyways, caught in these human-shaped cages which simultaneously saved their lives and trapped them.

“No, she had only been on earth once before, and that was several thousand years ago. The experience had been, uh, disorienting for her. It was disorienting for many.” Disorienting seemed like an understatement, but Cas didn’t seem to have any more to say on the subject, so Sam let it ride.

Hours passed in idle conversation. None of them wanted to talk about the task ahead. Cas especially was trying to avoid thinking about it as much as possible. Trying to avoid thinking about what success probably meant for him.

The sky darkened as they crossed the border into Minnesota. Sam heaved a sigh as he started mentally running down the checklist of items they had prepared, rehearsing the spells. Envisioning success.

Suddenly, Cas groaned and grabbed at his head. "Bobby," he grunted. They went over the plan one more time, attempting to hide key elements in coded phrases, but Dean was fairly sure that Metatron would be able to figure out what was going on if he tried hard enough. If he was listening at all.

The cabin was going to be angel-proofed, as strongly as they knew how. Bobby was certain that this would not prevent the spell from working, but they needed the protection because they were guaran-damn-fucking-teed about to seriously piss off Metatron. Dean did not want to die being smote by heavenly pencil-pusher rage. Cas had some ideas about how to work Metatron's name into the sigils to provide stronger protection against him, specifically. Everyone felt marginally reassured, but a pissed off angel is a pissed off angel. If they failed, Dean doubted they'd get out of this alive. Bobby said he had to go, as the heaven-side gang were busy with final preparations on their end. But they worked out when he should call next, expecting both sides would be in place by that point.

Finally, the Impala pulled off onto a dirt road. Dean cringed as small rocks pinged off her undercarriage. Her tires crunched as he slowly rolled up the short gravel driveway to park in front of the cabin.

"Now or never," he muttered under his breath. No one spoke as they gathered their things and approached the cabin's front door.

Nadiel answered on the first knock. Her vessel was an aging woman with bronze skin and dark hair streaked with grey, and she relied on a cane to move about the one-room space. After terse introductions, she directed Sam and Dean to move a bed to the center of the room over a large sigil she had drawn on the floor in charcoal. She and Cas reviewed his map, which covered her kitchen table like a formal table cloth, the ends brushing the floor.

At Nadiel and Cas's direction, Sam and Dean beefed up the protective sigils according to plan. They placed and lit candles around the bed, aligned with key points of the sigil on the floor.

Too soon, it was time. Bobby contacted Cas and they agreed that they would begin in one minute (in earthly time). Sam started a stopwatch. Nadiel lay down on the bed, a tense but determined expression on her face. This was the moment Dean had been dreading. He figured the execution would be his job, so he was surprised when Cas took his gun out of his hands.

"Sister, allow me." Nadiel nodded her permission. As he placed the muzzle to her forehead, he seemed to hesitate. Nadiel gripped the barrel and grit out:

"I will see you soon, Castiel. Do it."

The shot echoed too loudly in the small space. But there was no time for considering Nadiel's death, no time for shock or horror or revusion: the ritual had to begin immediately.  Sam dropped a match into a bowl of herbs and the three of them began to chant. Dean almost wished he knew what they were saying: the enochian words had a strangely droning quality to them.

*****

Metatron had been waiting for them. Ellen had planned on that, but some small part of her had still hoped against hope that she would be wrong. The good news was that he was currently ensnared in a trap set at her and Jo's post, which was one of those further from the route Nadiel would be taking. The bad news was that the trap wasn't holding as long as they had expected, and it wouldn't be much longer before he was able to zap off and try a different route. She fired off a message to Ash, who had somehow managed to make texting work in heaven. She could see the space around Metatron shimmer and distort as he wore his way through the protections, white light occasionally streaming through, his body still but his face contorted in rage. A major burst of light, and she thought he might be through, but the light dimmed and he was still trapped.

"That was the last layer," said Jo. Which meant it was their cue. They retreated through a marked door as Ellen sent out the message that their position was falling. They had no idea which route Metatron would try next, but he would almost guaranteed run into another of their traps. Eventually they might have to fight him - although with only one angel blade to go around, Ellen was distinctly not looking forward to that possibility.

They emerged through the door into the Roadhouse. Ash immediately assigned them a new position, one much closer to the hosts' graces.

"Nadiel is almost there," Bobby called out. "We only need to hold him off a little longer."

At the new position, Metatron was already burning through the protections almost twice as fast as before. But then he hit a layer that seemed to slow him down. Soon, his movements became sluggish and it was apparent that this protection was draining him. Ellen smiled as Jo fired off a message to Bobby: it was working. They had buried spells like this in about half of the protected areas, counting on Metatron getting cocky about the other protections being laid in the same patterns, being too distracted by the layers of spells to notice the draining charm mixed in. It had worked: it was just possible that this position would hold him long enough.

*****

Nadiel approached the hosts' graces. The area where Metatron had stored them appeared as a copse of woods on a spring morning. The air even felt cool and damp against her non-existent skin. Freed of her vessel but still a human soul rather than an angel, she had assumed the form of a vessel she had inhabited millennia ago. A young woman with smooth copper-colored skin: a smaller vessel, but agile and strong. It was the only human form that had ever felt comfortable to Nadiel.

The graces would have blinded any human eyes that looked upon them, dangerous even to her human soul. But she was so close now, she could feel her own grace singing to her, begging to be reclaimed. The light grew brighter as she drew closer until she had to close her eyes and move by feel. Time seemed to expand, and the final steps felt as if they took hours, days, maybe weeks. She was uncertain. But she listened to the call, continuing forward motion, until finally she felt the burn of grace across her skin.

**GO**, she sent to Castiel. **NOW, hurry!**

*****

Cas grabbed his head, shouting at Sam and Dean to begin the second spell. Nadiel’s desperation sang through his veins. He joined them as best he could, and the blinding white light that had filled the copse began to stream through the corpse on the bed. All three shut their eyes against the brightness. Wind produced from nowhere streamed through the cabin, whipping up anything it could reach as graces streamed through doors, through windows, through fresh holes punched in the ceiling and walls.

The moment they finished chanting, Cas felt a firm grip on his arm and someone was dragging him outside. In the darkness, it was difficult to see the extent of the damage to the structure, but they had their answer when the structure gave a great creaking groan and collapsed in a pile of dust.

“Well, fuck,” said Dean, “there goes our warded safe house.”

"Holy shit," gasped Sam. He looked at Cas and Dean. "It worked! Holy shit, guys, it worked!" But Dean couldn't even look at Cas, and Cas couldn't look at either of them.

"Not completely," Cas said. He tried not to feel disappointed: he had told himself to expect this, that it would only be a little while longer before it was his turn too. But he had a sinking feeling as he remained stubbornly human despite their success.

*****

Ash could tell the moment Nadiel had been successful. The transmission of the graces lit up his screen like fireworks. He called the others back to their base. Even if the draining charm had worked on Metatron, they needed to stay clear of him until the host could return and take care of that problem more finally.

*****

Across the globe, streaks of light raced across the sky once again. Wherever their light touched, new life sprang into being. An astounding amount of the rainforest was renewed overnight, growing up right in the middle of human development. Children walked out into their backyards and discovered new species. Crops flourished and dried out fields became lush.

No one quite knew what to make of it. Between the light show that preceded a rash of John and Jane Does appearing and this one (which oddly enough saw all of those same people disappear), many suspected extraterrestrial intelligence had visited earth. The cult of the Trenchcoated God claimed their savior was responsible. But no one ever listened to them anyways.

*****

Cas was looking up at the sky, his expression intent. "They're home," he said. Sam and Dean both turned to look at him, and he met their gazes. "They're all home." Then he smiled, looking skyward again. "Even Nadiel. She was restored with the rest of the host." He heaved a sigh, wonder and joy and aching disappointment churning in his chest. "Everyone lives."


	12. Stull

Team Free Will had hightailed it out of Wisconsin after the cabin collapsed. Given the circumstances, it seemed that fleeing the scene of the crime (such as it was) was their best course of action. Cas passed out in the back seat before Dean managed to start the engine. 

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Sam asked Dean, who was staring silently at the road, not even bothering with music. 

“I don’t know, Sammy.” Dean glanced in the rearview mirror, frowning at the sleeping form in the back seat. “He was pretty sure that this was how it was going to turn out, but he was still hoping, you know? And hoping but losing...man, that’s just about the shittiest.” 

“Yeah.” They were all a little too familiar. “What if it’s permanent, Dean? What if Cas is human for good? What do we do?”

“He won’t be. We’ll get his grace back. They owe him one, upstairs, for helping fix this pile of shit while they all napped.” 

“You think they’ll see it that way? You don’t think some of them will want their pound of flesh for his part in starting the whole thing?”

“It wasn’t his fault. They owe him now, Sammy. I’m gonna make sure they pay up.” Dean sounded so determined that it worried Sam. If his brother got bullheaded over this, they could be in real trouble. He let the subject drop, picking out a mixed tape and setting the volume low. 

Sam insisted on taking over driving a few hours down the road, after Dean tried to take a pill Sam couldn’t identify in order to stay awake. 

“Just take a fucking nap, Dean. I’m not going to crash your baby.” Dean grumbled and threatened Sam, but when he saw how Cas was curled up the back seat, hands balled into fists even in his sleep, he stopped complaining. Dean shifted Cas around until Cas’s head was in his lap and was asleep before Sam had pulled back onto the freeway. 

Sam expected Cas to take it hard, not getting his grace back. Especially because as far as anyone could tell, every other member of the host had been fully restored. Cas slept most of the next day, so Sam didn’t have much to go on for gauging his reaction. But when Cas emerged the second morning after the spell, he seemed downright cheerful. Cheerful enough that it worried Sam. Dean shuffled into the kitchen behind Cas, scrubbing a hand through his hair sleepily, and rolled his eyes at Sam’s questioning glance. 

“We’ve got a job,” he announced. 

“The angels have a plan,” elaborated Cas, excited energy rolling off of him in nearly tangible waves. “They’ve captured Metatron and they’re going to lock him away. But before they do, they’re getting my grace back. Dean was right, they all feel like they owe me one.”  
“But it’s not a freebie,” said Dean, “because they need our help with the lockup. They’re tossing the asshole into Purgatory, but the route they take has to go through Earth. There’s a weak point between planes of existence where we opened Lucifer’s cage.” Icy trepidation crept into Sam’s gut. “We’re headed back to Stull, Sammy.”

*****

The drive to Stull barely took three hours. Dean couldn’t decide if he wished it was over already, or that it would never end.

The angels needed their help to perform the spell that would open the cage. The Winchesters, although definitely not favored sons of Heaven, were considered sufficiently motivated to help, once the angels agreed to return Cas's grace as a part of the process of locking Metatron away. The fact that they had opened the cage here apparently meant they were better equipped to open the portal again. "Better equipped" was the Heavenly euphemism for "does not require enormous quantities of human blood". 

Maybe it was memories of the last time he had been at Stull that were making Dean’s stomach knot, but he didn't have a great feeling about this. He kept having flashbacks to the way Heaven had treated him and Sam before, the way they were simply tools in a larger scheme, and the echoes were way too strong to ignore. Cas seemed optimistic, but the veneer was starting to crack and Dean could tell it was mostly an act. Cas was way too smart to think this would be easy. The tension was written in his shoulders, in the way he had crawled into bed last night and simply closed his eyes. Cas was nervous.

In a lot of ways, it felt like they were going into a hostage exchange. The angels needed them to perform the spell, and Cas needed his grace back.  The angels were sending a representative to the meet, which according to Cas had been a source of some conflict. None of the angels really wanted to be on earth, having grown sick of it in their forced residency, but it was considered necessary for communication. 

The plan was simple. They showed up, prepared to do their part. Cas demanded they return his grace before they performed the spell. Personally, Dean wasn't convinced the angels wouldn't just toss it into Purgatory along with Metatron otherwise. He hoped he was wrong, and the angels would just be irritated that they were being rude or something. He was betting, however, that they would try to force them to perform the spell before they returned Cas's grace. He remembered the last time angels tried to make them do things. Pain like that, a guy doesn't forget. But the angels needed them to perform this spell, and the timing mattered. Not for some kind of celestial alignment, but because they were having a difficult time keeping Metatron under control in Heaven. According to Cas, he was weakened but belligerent and manipulative. He had a few allies, too. The sooner he was locked away, the better. 

"So here's a question, Cas," Dean said, eyes never leaving the road. "Naomi or whoever yanked you out of Purgatory, even though we don't know exactly how. What's to stop Metatron's buddies from doing the same?" It seemed like kind of a hole in the plan. Sam twisted in the passenger seat, folding one long leg up onto the seat so he could face back towards Cas comfortably. 

"They aren't just flinging him into Purgatory in general," said Cas. "There's a special section that's been sort of partitioned off. Less like a cage and more like...like a wildlife preserve. But it will just be Metatron in there, none of the souls in Purgatory should be able to reach him. And it will be sealed against angels, which is why you have to perform the spell to open the portal into it. No angel could access it."

"So some angel ropes a religious nut job into doing their dirty work," said Dean. "Look, I don't want to be glancing over my shoulder looking for this dude for the rest of my life. I've got enough bad shit chasing me without adding Heaven's evilest secretary to the works."

"It's a one time key, Dean," replied Cas. "There is no way to get him out. They left behind a key to Lucifer's cage, and they've learned their lesson." 

"It had better be." Dean wasn't sure this plan was as bullet proof as Heaven seemed to think, but if it worked well enough, and Cas got his grace back, today could be a win. 

It had been a while since Stull Cemetery had seen any kind of action. Dead leaves littered the ground, and the grass grew in dried out tangles around lichens covered headstones. It was boiling hot under the mid day sun when they rolled to a stop in the long grass. The angel standing between the headstones, however, was perfectly starched in a dark suit. She smiled as they piled out of the car. 

"Nadiel," said Cas, sounding surprised. "I didn't think they'd send you."

"I volunteered." She pulled Cas into a hug, and Dean wasn't sure she hadn't just whispered something in Cas's ear. "So, are you prepared to begin?" 

Dean dropped the duffel he had slung over his shoulder onto the ground. "Yeah, in a minute. Cas?" Cas shot him a look that Dean couldn't quite read. 

"Before we perform the spell, I would like the host to return my grace to me."

"But then you won't be human anymore," objected Nadiel. She did not seem surprised by Cas's request, and Dean was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

"The spell only requires two humans. I am superfluous to its execution." 

"If the angels return your grace they have no assurances your friends will uphold their end of the bargain." She was looking at Sam and Dean now. 

"Oh, trust me, we want the bastard locked up just as bad as they do. Our word is good," Dean replied. He felt like there was another thread to this conversation that he wasn't following. 

"The host is not prepared to restore your grace before Metatron is secured. He is the highest priority right now."

"Well tell them..." Dean burst out, before Cas interrupted him.

"Dean. I can handle this." Dean frowned, glaring at Nadiel even though he somehow felt as if she was on their side. "The point is non negotiable. It would require almost no diversion of resources. If my grace is not restored before Metatron is locked away, how do I know we are not locking my grace away with him? I am sorry, sister, but I have no proof that the host has even secured my grace at all."

Nadiel pursed her lips, eyes distant. Dean was fairly sure she was busy talking to the guys upstairs. He hoped she was being convincing. Suddenly, she looked worried, meeting Cas's eyes. His brow furrowed as he cocked his head. 

"Tell them they need to retrieve it or they're going to have to do this themselves." Cas’s voice was stern.

“They will not be pleased.” Nadiel’s tone was flat: it was becoming pretty clear that she was only a messenger here. They had sent a friendly face but invested her with no real power. Her eyes took on that distant look again. “This may take a while,” she said. Cas turned to Sam and Dean. 

“So.” Dean said. Cas nodded. 

“I guess we expected resistance like this,” Cas said. “I have a feeling, though, that they don’t actually have it. My grace.” His brow was furrowed.

“What did Nadiel say to you?” Sam asked, keeping his voice as low as he could. 

“She suggested what we had already planned to do.” Cas looked down at his hands. Sympathetic pain twisted in Dean’s chest: Cas’s family had tried to betray him. 

“Cas, they either have it or they’ll get it. They need us. It’s gotta be easier than arranging the sacrifice of a major city, right?” Dean laid a hand on Cas’s shoulder. 

“I’m not so sure. But they’re still talking to us. Because a delay can only hurt them, and we’ve got plenty of time, I think they’re planning to concede. If they can.”

“ _If_ they can?” asked Sam. 

“I’m still not certain if the spell actually used up my grace or not. It is possible that it no longer exists at all.”

Dean wanted to contradict Cas, to reassure him, but he could not deny the possibility. He wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulders while they waited for Nadiel. It was really pretty creepy how still she was standing, unblinking. Suddenly, she inhaled deeply. 

“Castiel.” Cas stepped away from Dean, moving towards Nadiel. Dean’s side felt cool where Cas had been pressed against him.  “Castiel, they had their reasons for not wanting to return your grace.”  
“I’m not interested in reasons.” Cas’s voice was hard, cold. 

“Still, you will be interested in this. They have recovered your grace from Metatron. It was not easy. He...resisted. But, Castiel, when Metatron used it to cast that spell, it was damaged. Severely.” 

“Permanently?”

“No. But if you take it back, you will remain powerless for some time. It could take years, Castiel.”

“But I will heal.”

“Yes.”

“What are a few years in the course of my existence?” Cas asked. “That is not a problem for me. Return my grace.” Nadiel frowned slightly, seeming hesitant. “Please, Nadiel, tell them I want it back.”

Nadiel nodded, then turned to Sam and Dean. “Close your eyes.” She reached out and placed her palm against Cas’s forehead as a blinding light filled the cemetery. 

When Dean opened his eyes, he saw Cas collapsed on the ground at Nadiel’s feet. “Cas! Cas, are you okay?” He grabbed at Cas’s shoulders, pulling him so he could see his face. “Cas?”

Cas just groaned in response. “What did you do to him?” Dean growled at Nadiel. Sam stood behind him, looming over everyone. Dean could feel the anger radiating off of him. If the angels had decided to just kill Cas, if they thought there was any way they were getting the Winchesters to help after this, they were sorely mistaken. Dean had taken on Heaven before. Maybe not his brightest decision, but he’d do it again if he had to. 

“He is fine.” Light still shone in Nadiel’s eyes, fading as she drew a deep breath. “His grace was damaged. It will take him some time to heal fully, although he should be...functional, from a human perspective, in an hour or two.” 

“Functional?” Dean snarled.

“Castiel knew what he was doing when he accepted his grace in this condition. It was his decision. You heard me warn him.” She looked up into Sam’s face, no trace of fear in her expression. “We need to perform the spell. Immediately.” 

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam said, as his brother gathered Cas into his arms and stood. Sam was a little impressed as Dean carried Cas, bridal style towards the Impala; Dean was a little taller, but Cas wasn’t exactly a lightweight. Sam opened the back passenger side door and helped Dean lay Cas across the seat. “He’ll be fine. Let’s do this and get out of here, okay?” 

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean nodded, shoulders set stiff with anger. But it was more than that, Sam realized, as Dean’s fingers fumbled at preparing the spell. Dean thought he had lost Cas, again, and just the scare had been almost too much. For a moment, he wished desperately that Nadiel was right, that Cas was going to have a few years of being basically human, because maybe he’d spend them with Dean. He wasn’t sure his brother could survive losing Cas again. 

“Ready?” Dean asked Nadiel tersely. She nodded, eyes distant. Dean met Sam’s eyes as Sam struck a match and dropped it into the bowl of herbs balanced precariously on a headstone. 

The lights streaked through forests, across deserts, through parks on sunny afternoons. Like comets burning across the sky, they converged on a single point. 

Sam and Dean shielded their eyes again. 


	13. Enough For Now

Nadiel informed them that the angels had been successful, and that Metatron was now secured in Purgatory. From Sam’s perspective, the whole thing had mostly just seemed like standing on the surface of the sun. The headstone they had placed the bowl on was crumbled to dust, but he and Dean were unscathed. 

“So we’re good?” Dean asked, already walking towards the Impala. Nadiel nodded, meeting Sam’s eyes because Dean had already turned his back to her. 

“Great,” he said, following after his brother. Nadiel hadn’t given them any particular trouble, but on the whole he was feeling pretty done with angels. 

“You’re driving, Sammy.” Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, nearly missing the keys Dean tossed him out of shock. “I’m riding in the back with Cas.” Dean didn’t say anything else as Sam backed them out of the cemetery and headed for the highway. 

Sam had just managed to quiet his mind, losing himself in the hum of the tires when he heard rustling in the back seat, Dean practically whispering to Cas. 

“Cas? Is he okay?” Sam asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. 

“I’ll be fine, Sam.” Cas’s voice was rough, a deeper quality to it, and Sam couldn’t quite decide whether it came from disuse or the return of his power. “However, I think you two are going to be stuck with me for a while. I’m...well, I’ll be fine.” Cas didn’t sound all that amped, but Sam couldn’t help smiling to himself. They weren’t exactly retiring, or picking out curtains, or riding off into the sunset. But Team Free Will was intact, and it was good enough for now. 

He turned on the radio, figuring no one would mind since Cas was awake. He had kind of expected Dean and Cas to keep talking, since Cas hadn’t been debriefed on the whole situation, but the back seat was pretty quiet. 

Curious, Sam glanced in the rearview mirror. Most of his view was of the back of Cas’s head, because he was straddling Dean’s lap, and jesus, Dean and Cas were making out like teenagers, and at some point Dean had lost his shirt. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Dean just flipped Sam off. 

**Author's Note:**

> Warning notes for entire work:  
> References to suicide: brief mention of canonical struggles with suicidal thoughts or tendencies, specifically Sam and Cas. (This is a triggering topic for me, so I tend to tread extremely lightly.)
> 
> There is a brief mention of Dean's possible history of sex work. 
> 
> There is some discussion of Cas's difficulty adjusting to food and needing to eat (but no refusal to eat, etc.). 
> 
> There is mention of End!verse Cas's substance abuse problems. 
> 
> Alcohol use and minor references to drug use.
> 
> An original character volunteers to die (albeit temporarily). A gun is used for the execution. 
> 
> Feel free to message me if you need clarification, think I need additional warnings, or want to know about more specifics about a trigger.


End file.
